


Quiet Corners

by isayhello



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mercedes and Dedue just have a lot in common, Mercedes centric, Mutual Pining, No Beta, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, So is Dedue, all couples tags besides mercedes/dedue are background, baby bro felix, i'll add tags as i go, mercedes is depressed but stays positive for everyone else, oh definitely all of the jeritza spoilers are going to come up, she is soft, that's why the m rating, they are soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isayhello/pseuds/isayhello
Summary: Mercedes enjoyed peace above all else—small moments of stillness and contentment between herself and the universe. She liked to listen to her friends, to her mother, to the world around her, to anyone with a story to tell.It turned out, though, that the person whose voice she most longed to hear was just as quiet as she was.Nestled together in the quiet corners of garreg mach monastery, her relationship with Dedue bloomed.(the academy phase told from Mercedes' perspective, starting around ch.3)
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 24
Kudos: 44





	1. Garland Moon (pt. 1) - a dish to wash

**Author's Note:**

> Mercedes and Dedue are my favorite three houses ship. I recently started a new blue lions playthrough, so I'm going to try to write this along with it. Will update as I play through.

Mercedes sighed contentedly as she stepped out of her dorm room, gently shutting the door behind her. It was a nice morning in the middle of the Garland Moon, and the early morning sunlight filled her with pleasant warmth. Her class had no mission this weekend, so she was free for the whole day.

She’d woken up thinking of rosemary bread rolls that her mother used to make. There was a single small rosemary bush in a far corner of the greenhouse that Mercedes had noticed early in her days at the academy. Rosemary was a main ingredient of many Martriz specialties, so she would sneak a few sprigs for her recipes every once in a while.

She danced to a tune in her head as she walked to the greenhouse—a quirk she had perhaps picked up from Annette. The redheaded girl had a constant stream of song running through her mind. Mercedes smiled fondly as she thought about her friend, swooping into the greenhouse, making her way to the back corner where her secret rosemary bush lived.

She gathered as much as she dared take in one go, and made her way to the kitchen. It was quite early in the morning, but the midsummer sunrises made it feel like it was almost noon at eight. 

Mercedes didn’t usually stop to think about her moods. Her emotions ebbed and flowed like tides of the sea, and she tried not to pay them much mind, riding them out as she pleased. She had to say, though, she was in a particularly good mood on this day. 

She was humming as she spread herself out in a corner of the kitchen. Other students might come to also cook throughout the day, so she was careful to not take up too much space. She pushed her ponytail behind one shoulder so that she could properly knead the dough without her hair getting in the way. She put all of her weight into kneading, not letting up until she was satisfied with the smoothness of her dough.

She had brought a book to read while she waited for the dough to rise. The last time she left a half-cooked project unattended in the kitchen, someone had picked at it while Mercedes was away, and so she wasn’t taking any chances this time. She perched on the counter beside her covered bowl of dough, herself covered in a light sheen of flour, and pulled out her book.

Mercedes was weak for typical romantic fiction, and so she was reading something of the historical variety. A heart-wrenching tale about a princess who fell in love with her knight, who was duty-bound to obey, rather than love, her. The power dynamic of the relationship was such that it could never work between them romantically, but that didn’t stop the heroine from pining after the man. And he _was_ worth pining over. The knight was stoic and loyal, always nearby to help if called, and—of course—handsome. Mercedes could feel herself swooning.

She was distracted by a noise, nearby. A faint clattering. She looked up from her novel to see her classmate Dedue, pulling what looked to be a bag of marinating meat out of the icebox. “Good morning, Dedue,” she chirped at the boy. 

He glanced at her. “Mercedes,” he said her name as a greeting, and she turned back to her book while he continued with whatever he was doing. 

When the tenth hour bells rang, Mercedes checked on her dough, which looked puffy enough to punch out. She could feel Dedue watching her as she added some wood to the oven, almost ready to bake her rolls. He was cooking something in a pot across the room, and it smelled _heavenly_. As Mercedes set her rolls in the oven, she moved to the stove, to stand beside Dedue.

“That smells quite nice,” she complimented him with a smile. “Do you mind if I use the stove next to yours?” She almost missed the shake of his head indicating that he did not mind, the motion was so infinitesimally small. 

She knew she had to make some honey butter—Annette would revolt if she showed up with such a savory baked good and nothing to sweeten it. She pulled some butter from the icebox and honey from the pantry, setting the two over low heat in a small saucepan. “What are you cooking?” She asked Dedue, leaning over in front of him to look into his pot. He took a small step back as she moved into his space.

“Rabbit stew,” Dedue said quietly, “hunted by Ashe.”

“How sweet of him,” she smiled, stirring her mixture. As soon as the honey and the butter had melted together, she poured them into a mold, sliding it into the icebox. It was at times like these that she regretted her weakness for performing ice magic, or else she could have hardened the butter in moments. The rolls would take another half hour or so, so she sat back with her book. Dedue also had a book, and he was tucked into his own corner reading while his stew simmered. 

Mercedes continued to glance at the larged boy, as he sat reading on the other side of the room from her. What was he reading about? What was he thinking? He was so stoic, very hard to read. He seemed so brutishly large, but was so soft-spoken in reality. “What are you reading about?” She asked, because she didn’t have much of a filter and she was curious. 

Dedue looked up at her, something like terror in his eyes. He was embarrassed. “Um,” he said, and Mercedes glanced down at the cover of his book. _She_ had read that book just a week before, it was another sappy romance. She burst into giggles.

“I love that book,” she said warmly, “Ronaldo is one of my favorite male leads,” she thought it was quite cute that he liked to read romance novels—more than that, though, it meant she had someone else to talk about them with.

“I don’t know…” he mumbled, looking down at his book, “I think he’s a bit…selfish.”

“ _Selfish?_ ” Mercedes was scandalized, “how so?”

Dedue shrugged, still not looking her in the eye, “he jeopardized the entire guard’s mission so he could deal with his personal issues.”

“His personal issues entailed saving the life of the woman he loves,” Mercedes argued.

“He did it for self-serving purposes.”

“He did it so she wouldn’t die,” Mercedes was beginning to feel flustered, defending her fictional boyfriend. 

Dedue finally looked at her, and there was a ghost of a smirk in his eyes. “What are _you_ reading, then?” He asked.

Mercedes showed him the cover of her book proudly. “Another chivalrous knight,” she said. Books with chivalrous knights were truly in abundant supply these days.

“Theodore is much more chivalrous than Ronaldo,” Dedue mentioned the knights in their respective stories. “He knows his duty, doesn’t put his personal feelings ahead of his oath.” Mercedes nodded silently, smiling. This conversation was doing a lot for her impression of the tall Duscur boy, she was learning so much about his opinions on leading men from romance novels. 

Mercedes went to check on her rolls once more, and they were just about done so she pulled them out of the oven, setting them aside to cool. Dedue had gone back to his book, shutting her out. She smiled to herself as she thought of their conversation. Who knew that Dedue was a romantic who enjoyed girly novels? Something about it made her heart swell slightly. Only slightly, though.

She read a bit more until she was sure her rolls were cooled enough to put into a basket. She pulled her honey butter out of the icebox—it wasn’t completely solid, but it was close enough. “Would you like a roll, Dedue?” She asked him pleasantly as she got ready to leave the library. “Rosemary bread and honey butter,” Dedue nodded politely, using a knife to cut a bit of honey butter, spreading it onto one of the rolls. 

Mercedes watched his face intently as he took a bite. He nodded, then looked up at her and made a soft expression that was almost a smile. “It’s quite delicious,” he told her, “thank you, Mercedes.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she smiled at him, and left the kitchen. 

She found Annette and Lysithea studying together in the courtyard. Lysithea, who was naturally book smart, was quizzing Annette, who looked helplessly lost. It was such a nice day that many students were studying in pockets out in the courtyard. Mercedes drifted towards them happily.

“Hello,” she said, letting herself float into a sitting position on the ground, “I’ve brought snacks.”

“Ooh, Mercie snacks,” Annette perked up.

“You never answered my question,” Lysithea accused the redhead, eyes narrowed.

“I can answer it after I eat some snacks,” Annette insisted. “What did you make, Mercie?”

Mercedes giggled, “some rosemary bread and honey butter,” she presented the two younger girls with the fruits of her morning labor. 

They both swooned, especially over the honey butter. “I don’t think butter without honey should even exist,” Lysithea said through a bite. Annette nodded her agreement solemnly. Mercedes stretched out in the grass as the two younger girls continued to study. She felt so warm and pleasant in the summer sun. With a soft sigh, she rolled onto her stomach so that she could keep reading. She only had a few more chapters left in her book.

By the early afternoon, she was done with the novel and ready to return it to the library. The took the basket with the remaining rolls back to her dorm and then made her way to the library to fetch a new book. For her next novel, she chose a commoner’s romance, rather than one that dealt with the nobility. A simple and secret romance between two servants on an estate. She tucked the book into her bag, making her way to her final destination for the day—the Cathedral.

Mercedes fancied herself to be quite the spiritual girl. She loved to believe, to have faith in something bigger than herself. It brought her immense comfort in troubling times. Ashe and Marianne were both praying in the Cathedral, and Mercedes smiled warmly at the two of them as she took her place amongst the pews.

She prayed that day for Annette and Lysithea to pass whatever exam they were studying for. She prayed for her brother’s soul, as she always did. And she prayed, for Dedue…what about him? She wasn’t sure why the Duscur boy continuously popped into her thoughts, but she took it as an omen to add him to her prayers. _I pray that Dedue and I will have a chance to spend time together again,_ was the prayer that she decided on for him. She thought about the way he’d looked at her, the raised eyebrow and almost-smirk that had adorned his face as they talked about romance novels. Her heart beat a bit faster.

When she was satisfied that she’d paid enough homage to the goddess, Mercedes wandered towards the dining room, her stomach grumbling adamantly. She’d only eaten bread rolls that day, after all. “Mercedes,” she almost missed the soft voice that spoke her name as she strolled past the kitchens. She would have missed it if not for the soft touch on her shoulder. “My stew is ready,” Dedue was saying, then he took a step back, removing his hand from her shoulder, “if you’d like any, I saved some for you.”

“How wonderful of you,” she gushed, and she could swear that his dark cheeks were pinkening. She loved to watch people react to her praise. It filled her heart with happiness. She followed Dedue back into the kitchens, where he had been joined by Dimitri, Ingrid, and Ashe, all three of whom were sitting with their own respective bowls of stew. “Hello,” Mercedes chirped to the group. They all greeted her back.

The stew was rich and subtle at the same time, a carefully balanced medley of flavors and spices. “Dedue,” she said his name combined with a moan of satisfaction at the taste, “I’ve never had rabbit stew that tasted this delightful, in my entire life.”

“That’s high praise,” Dimitri said from across the room, and Mercedes didn’t even feel like blushing. It was true.

“I am glad it is to your taste,” Dedue told her, standing with his own bowl. His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners as he offered her another almost-smile. She gazed up at him, wondering what a real smile would look like on the man’s face. She was sure it would light up the room. Maybe it would even light up the whole world. “Is there something on my face?” He asked, reaching up to self-consciously dab around his mouth.

“No, sorry,” Mercedes felt suddenly flustered. She joined a conversation between Ingrid and Ashe, letting Dedue and Dimitri huddle up the way that they seemed to always be. Those two boys shared a bond deeper than any Mercedes had seen before—even deeper than between herself and Annette.

Without thinking, Mercedes poured what was left of the stew into a bowl and began to wash the pots that Dedue had used. She was just trying to help. As she scrubbed the pot in front of the sink, however, a pair of hands reached around her, gently pulling the dish from her grip. “You don’t need to clean up after me,” Dedue said, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s my pleasure,” Mercedes reached out to take the pot back, but Dedue stepped away from her, pulling it out of reach, “you cooked that delicious meal, it’s not fair for you to also clean the pot.”

“Contrarily, I was the one who decided to dirty the pot, so the responsibility to clean it falls to me.”

“I’ll wash it,” Dimitri offered, taking a step towards the two of them. Mercedes and Dedue turned to stare at him, both clearly offended by his offer. “Nevermind,” he put his hands up, taking a step back. Mercedes and Dedue turned back to each other, engaged in a battle of wills.

“I insist that you let me wash this pot,” Mercedes said with a smile, keeping her aura light as she pulled the pot towards her again. 

Dedue was doing the opposite, exerting some kind of mental pressure. Trying to intimidate her, maybe? “I couldn’t let you waste your time like that,” he argued, “please, allow me.” 

As he grabbed to take the pot back from her, his large hand briefly covered her smaller one. Since he thought he was grasping at just the pot, his fingers curled around hers, squeezing gently. They both jumped at the contact, instantly dropping the pot, which clattered to the floor scandalously. Mercedes was mortified by her actions, and Dedue clearly wasn’t feeling much different.

“Don’t worry guys, I’ll wash it,” Ashe said, stepping between them to pick up the pot. Neither of them complained this time. Mercedes couldn’t stop thinking about the moment Dedue’s hand had wrapped around her own. She couldn’t keep the blush off of her face, so she turned away from the group briefly.

When she looked at Dedue again, he appeared to be having his own silent struggle. He couldn’t—wouldn’t?—look at her, but she could swear she saw his eyes flickering down to his hand. The same hand that had grabbed hers.

Maybe it was wishful thinking.


	2. Garland Moon (pt. 2) - discount silks and a skipped dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes and Annette go shopping. Mercedes sleeps through dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so originally this chapter also included the battle at Gaspard, but I decided to break it into 2 chapters so you'll get that next time. This is mostly filler, but I had fun writing it.

A week later, she still could not look Dedue in the eye. She still had such a clear feeling in her mind: the warmth of his large hand closing around hers. Even though it had been an accident, it had stirred something inside of Mercedes, and she found herself growing quite flustered whenever the Duscur boy was around.

And he was _always_ around. He seemed to frequent the same areas of the monastery at the same times as her, be it the kitchens or the greenhouse during the day, or the knight’s hall in the evenings, or the common room late at night. The only place she never saw Dedue was in the Cathedral. 

When she saw him, she always faltered before forcing a serene smile, her heart admittedly skipping a beat or two. “Hello, Dedue,” she would say as sweetly as she could, either closing her eyes with her smile or fixing her gaze on his large hands—the reason she felt so strange around him.

“Mercedes,” he would always say her name back as a greeting, and a beat of awkward quietness would pass before they began to engage in their separate tasks within the same space.

This very encounter unfolded in the kitchens once more, on the final Friday evening of the moon—two nights before they were to march for the kingdom. Mercedes looked at Dedue’s hands as she greeted him, and unsuccessfully tried to will a flush not to rise to her cheeks. Their beat of shared silence passed, and Dedue began to work on his own cooking project as Mercedes turned back to Annette, who was standing just at her elbow.

Annette was watching Dedue walk away as Mercedes began to mix her dough once more, folding it over itself with a wooden spoon. “Is something up between you and Dedue?” Annette finally asked, in as much of a whisper as she was capable of.

Mercedes was quiet for a moment, forcing her hand not to falter in its mixing of her cookie dough. How to deal with this? She couldn’t act defensive, that would make her look guilty. And in reality, there was nothing ‘up’ between herself and Dedue. “What makes you say that?” She finally asked, in a whisper. Dedue was a ways away, but they were still talking about him while he was in the room with them.

Annette gave Mercedes a _look_ , as if Mercedes should already know what she meant. “Neither of you are looking at each other, you’re both blushing, there’s, like, this…thick awkwardness in the air. Did he kiss you or something?” Mercedes dropped the spoon in surprise, and it clattered onto the counter, the sound ringing in her ears. “No, no, neither of you would do that…” Annette looked to be deep in thought, “you _do_ like him, though, right?”

“He’s _right there!_ ” Mercedes hissed back, mortified. Dedue continued to go about his business across the room, apparently unaware of their embarrassing conversation.

“But you do,” Annette goaded, her tone not leaving room for disagreement. Mercedes thought about this. Did she _like_ Dedue? No, of course not, she barely knew him. She liked the feeling of his hand around hers, but that didn’t mean that she liked him. She glanced over at him quickly. He didn’t seem to notice. What was he like, she wondered? What would it be like to really _know_ Dedue? 

Annette let Mercedes sit with her thoughts for about forty-five seconds before changing the subject to a dress she’d seen in the marketplace the other day. She’d do anything to be able to afford that dress. “If you take me to see it, I can try to make you something Similar,” Mercedes offered. She did enjoy sewing, and she’d never undertaken such a project. 

Annette swooned, “Mercie!! You can do that??”

Mercedes felt a bit embarrassed, “well, I doubt it will look as good as something machine made. The stitches won’t be nearly as straight, and—”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” Annette interrupted, “you should just make it instead of talking yourself down before you even try,” that was what Mercedes liked most about Annette: her frank but encouraging attitude. It was easy for Mercedes to get caught up in her own head, and Annette always brought her back to the world. “And I would love to have a Mercie original dress,” the girl added. 

“You’re right,” Mercedes agreed, “we should go to town to look tomorrow,” she smiled, “It’ll be a fun project!”

“Yes! Every Mercie project is a fun project,” Annette agreed, and they fell back into their comfortable pattern of conversation—Annette talked nonstop and Mercedes listened. She loved listening, really, much more than she liked talking. Sometimes, she fancied herself to be a sort of conversational sponge, pulling in words from those around her. 

As the cookies were baking, Annette wandered over to Dedue. Mercedes watched from a distance. “Hi, Dedue! What are you cooking?” the small redhead asked.

“Bear meat,” Dedue said simply, “it is hard to get the flavor right, but it’s what Sylvain and Felix caught when they went out hunting,” the man continued when Annette made a face at the mention of bear meat.

“Is it for dinner tonight?”

Dedue nodded. “The professor wanted me to cook this for the whole house,” he explained, then, for some reason, his eyes flitted to Mercedes’. And she’d forgotten that she was avoiding his gaze and was looking straight at him. She felt a jolt as their eyes met, then he looked away just as quickly as he’d glanced in her direction in the first place, but her heart still beat slightly faster.

she checked on the cookies. A couple more minutes. Dimitri walked into the room then, looking for Dedue. “Hello, your highness,” Mercedes and Annette said at the same time, their voices forming a chorus greeting the prince. Dimitri waved halfheartedly to them before turning to Dedue.

Annette was back at Mercedes’ side as the two boys began to converse in hushed tones. Everything always seemed so intense between Dimitri and Dedue—those two shared a bond that she still couldn’t quite grasp. Both boys were a bit intimidating to her.

When the cookies were ready, she and Annette took them out to the gazebo to share a cup of tea. “Mercie, your cookies are the best,” Annette said cheerfully, putting two in her mouth at the same time, “I could eat them for the rest of my life,” the redhead was clearly having a moment, so Mercedes just smiled and sipped her tea.

The bear meat that Dedue had prepared was delectable, as Mercedes probably could have guessed beforehand. She was beginning to understand the way he blended spices. His palate had a greater tolerance for flavor density, which she appreciated. She hadn’t realized how bland Fodlan’s food was until she tasted food prepared by Dedue.

Mercedes sat sandwiched between Annette and Sylvain as she enjoyed her dinner. Sylvain was engaged in conversation with Felix on his other side, and Annette was similarly occupied with Ashe, leaving Mercedes to enjoy her meat in silence. As she took her third bite, she was overwhelmed by the urge to tell Dedue how delicious his cooking was. She snuck a furtive glance in his direction, but he was speaking with Dimitri. To Dimitri’s left stood Ingrid, her shoulders stiff.

Mercedes watched Ingrid for a moment, the way the blonde girl’s eyes darkened as she regarded Dedue. Ingrid did not like the Duscur boy, that much was apparent. But…why? She always seemed to cling closer to Dimitri’s side when Dedue was around, regarding the the other with bitter, distrustful eyes. Something about it bothered Mercedes, but she bit her lip and tore her gaze away from Ingrid, her eyes settling back on her plate. Her plate of delicious food. Prepared by Dedue.

“Hello, Mercedes,” she blinked, her gaze landing up on Marianne. The blue-haired girl stood tentatively across from her. She’d joined the house just this month, and seemed to be having a difficult time assimilating. “Do you mind if I sit across from you?”

“Go ahead,” Mercedes smiled, and Marianne set her plate down tentatively, gently lowering herself onto the bench, looking as if she was afraid of breaking something despite her frail stature. “How have you been adjusting to fitting in with our class?” Mercedes asked the more timid girl, easily falling into her big-sister role.

“Oh, um,” Marianne was quite quiet—Mercedes had to lean half-way across the table to hear her over Sylvain’s raucous laughter, “everyone’s been very nice to me,” she sounded guilty as she said it.

“Our classmates are all quite lovely,” Mercedes agreed, “it’s a pleasure to be able to dine with everybody like this. Yourself included, of course,” Marianne looked stunned. “If you ever need anything,” Mercedes continued, “you know where my door is. I’ve been told that I’m a great listener.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Marianne said, sounding like she was definitely never going to take Mercedes up on that offer. She was so painfully shy, after all. 

It was in the next moment that Annette realized that Marianne was sitting with them, and so she turned the full force of her chatter on the timid girl, Ashe also engaging with Marianne from Annette’s side. Mercedes was thankful for the chance to finish her meal in peace.

She didn’t get to see Dedue, to tell him how delicious his food was, that night. She wanted to, but he always seemed to be surrounded by other classmates, and for some reason Mercedes was feeling a bit self conscious about paying her compliments to the chef.

And so, she slept that night with regret in her heart. Regret for not thanking Dedue better. She woke with that regret the next morning, at took it with her to the Cathedral. Ashe was standing nervously among the pews—it was the day before they were to march for Castle Gaspard and confront his adoptive father Lord Lonato. The poor boy was a wreck, and so Mercedes left him alone to participate in her own prayers.

Sometimes she felt silly praying. Sometimes she felt like she only did it because it was what she’d always been told to do. Even on those days, she didn’t allow her faith to waver. She prayed for more faith, which the goddess had never denied her before. After all, it was her faith that allowed her to heal her housemates. Her most treasured skill.

She prayed for everyone’s safety in the upcoming battle—she liked to get her serious prayers out of the way at the beginning of her sessions in the Cathedral, saving the fun stuff for later. Mercedes liked to test the goddess, to pray for things a deity might not usually care about. Prayers didn’t often come true, but miracles were not unknown. Maybe her prayers would come true, and the constant fog in her mind would clear, allowing her to remember basic dates, not forget her notes in her room on her way to class, stop tripping over her own feet.

A sense of space would do Mercedes good, and so she prayed for one. She prayed that she and Annette would be able to find the fabrics she needed to make the dress Annette wanted. She prayed that she would be able to make the dress well enough that her friend would light up with glee. 

And she prayed for Dedue…what about him, though? She was stumped, not sure of how to pray for the boy. What did she want from him? She never intended to pray for Dedue, but her personal spiritual philosophy was to let her mind wander and pray for what it settled on. This morning, her mind was settled on Dedue.

So, she prayed for him. She prayed he would stay safe in the upcoming battle, return unscathed, and continue crossing paths with her around the monastery. That seemed like a good prayer for Dedue. Simple, and possible. She also prayed for forgiveness for her cowardice—she had genuinely wanted to thank the boy for the food the night before. Why had she faltered? It was delicious. He deserved compliments for it.

Uncommon footsteps caught Mercedes’ attention, and she glanced up to see Annette skipping towards her through the pews. Annette didn’t often visit the Cathedral, and as such her etiquette was somewhat ignorant of the regularities that lay therein. “Mercie,” she whisper-yelled as she got close enough, “are you almost done?”

Mercedes smiled, standing and smoothing out her skirt, “I was just finishing up,” she said with a smile. It wasn’t exactly a lie—she could finish up whenever she wanted, after all, “let’s go.”

Annette talked the whole way to the market, a comforting sound to Mercedes. She _hmm_ ’ed when necessary to let her friend know she was listening to her stories, and Annette’s perception of the world bordered on fantasy—Mercedes did love to hear her tales of the swamp beasties behind her uncle’s house. 

The dress in the shop window was lovely. It was flowy and light, with layers nonetheless and lace sleeves. Annette gazed at it longingly, and so the two of them set about the rows of stalls, eventually settling on some discount silks, imported from Almyra. The dress in the window was blue, but the discount silks were yellow and orange.

“These colors will look nicer with your hair,” Mercedes offered a distraught Annette. It was true, the yellows and oranges would look lovely with her red hair. “And I’ll make it be otherwise identical,” she vowed.

When Annette turned back, there were stars in her eyes. “Can you really…?” Mercedes nodded firmly, and Annette bought the silks, along with some new thread and needles for her friend to use. “That was my whole allowance for the moon,” she sighed ruefully.

“At least there’s a new moon in two days,” Mercedes offered, balancing the package of folded silks on her hip as she walked.

“Oh, yes,” Annette smiled at this information, as if she’d forgotten what time of the moon it was. “When are you going to start?” she asked curiously, eyes flitting to the package Mercedes was carrying.

Mercedes shrugged, “after we get back from Gaspard, I guess.”

Annette’s mouth pulled into a tight line, her brow furrowed with deep thought. “Do you think…everything will be okay with Lord Lonato?” She finally asked, apparently choosing her words very carefully.

Mercedes grimaced. “It’s hard to say,” she said honestly, “he is inciting a rebellion against the church, after all.”

“Do you think there’s any way we might be able to spare him?” Annette asked, clearly thinking about Ashe. They all were. He was so distraught these days, at the thought of his adoptive father raising an army against the church—at the thought that this man who raised him had left him in the dark.

“I don’t know,” Mercedes responded, and they walked the rest of the way back to the monastery in grim silence. 

Mercedes made her way back to her dorm room—her _nest_ , as Annette teasingly called it, in the late afternoon. Mercedes was not the neatest person, but she wasn’t filthy either. She liked to keep her room in what she referred to as organized piles. To the outside perspective, it appeared a complete mess, but in reality she knew exactly where everything was at all times.

She settled in bed with her notes, ready to study for the upcoming exams. She was studying reason magic this afternoon. She pulled to her hand a thunder sigil, gazing down at the glowing light on her palm. It crackled with static as it glowed. For a brief moment, she wondered if it was really okay for her to wield a power like this. She let the sigil crackle away, never allowing the spell to leave the confines of her palm. She turned back to her notes, ready to concentrate until dinner. 

As it happens, though, when one attempts to study in bed, Mercedes found herself drifting closer and closer towards napping. She resisted, of course, shaking herself awake, and staring even more intently at her notes. The more she read, the more the words glazed over and ran together in her mind. She reread the same passage about six times. She was just getting so sleepy. And she’d be fine to just close her eyes for a few minutes, wouldn’t she?

The bell woke her up. She lay completely still, listening to it ring _ten times_!? She’d slept until the tenth bell? She bolted straight up in bed, a single sheet of her notes stuck to her left cheek. As she pulled the paper away from her face, a thin string of drool spread between the two. A small puddle of drool had caused ink to run in a smudge where her face had been. Fantastic.

Mercedes rubbed her eyes, looking around her room. It was dark—she’d fallen asleep when the sun was still out, and hadn’t lit any of the oil lamps sitting around her room for that reason. She knew where everything was in her organized mess, though, and found herself changing into a more comfortable outfit than her school uniform—an old parka and skirt made from fabric that had been worn out the perfect amount. She loved the feeling of her favorite skirt swishing against her knees.

It was a lovely night. The moon was waxing, and it would be full within the next week. Mercedes wandered towards the dining room—she’d slept through dinner, after all, and her stomach was punishing her for it. Her destination was, predictably, completely dark. Even so, she quietly made her way to the kitchens, lighting a single lamp under which to snoop through the food that had been left behind by other students.

Normally, she was not a proponent of pilfering others’ prepared food, but she had resolved herself to leave a note for whomever she stole from, offering to repay them. She even wrote the note before she opened the icebox, scribbling out on a spare piece of paper: _I am so sorry that I ate your food, I slept through dinner and was hungry. I will pay you back for the ingredients if necessary. Mercedes._ It took about three tries to get the wording correct, the rejects sat crumpled in a wastebasket.

Satisfied with her apology note, Mercedes began to look through the icebox. A few fish dishes, some kind of jelly. Oh goodness, was that—it was! tucked away at the back of the icebox was a small package of leftover bear from the night before. Before Mercedes could think, she’d grabbed it.

 _Is it really okay if I eat this?_ she thought to herself, staring down at it. It looked so tasty, reddened with spices.

“You can have that, if you’d like,” Mercedes yelped, dropping the package into her lap at the sudden presence of another. Dedue was standing in the corner, looking at her wearily. 

“Heavens, Dedue,” she put one hand over her heart, “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Apologies,” he responded solemnly. Mercedes tucked away into the icebox everything she’d already taken out, except for the bear, and she pulled a fork and knife from the cutlery drawer, gingerly serving herself a bit of bear meat steak.

Dedue was watching her, his green eyes bright in the lamplight. “I hope it was to your liking,” his deep voice was unwavering, but in his eyes there was a sort of introverted uncertainty.

“Dedue,” she looked at him, “this is quite literally one of the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life,” his brow furrowed, “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I was a bit…embarrassed to say it in front of the others.”

“Embarrassed?” He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if trying to make sense of it. He glanced at her, “is it so personal to enjoy food?”

“I enjoy _your_ food,” she said firmly, taking another bite, “because you made it. And it’s delicious,” she took yet another bite, even though she hadn’t yet finished chewing the one already in her mouth. she smiled at the taste, “the blend of spices is so immaculate, Dedue. It’s truly impressive, you’re really gifted at cooking.”

One of Mercedes’ ultimate defense mechanism was the art of the compliment. When she wanted someone to like her, or she was uncertain of her situation, she showered others with compliments. It was a survival tactic. If you compliment them, they will like you. If they like you, they will keep you around. 

Dedue, though, appeared flustered. The tips of his ears were slowly reddening. “I am…glad to hear that it is to your taste,” he said formally, leaning against the counter. He was still watching her. She watched him back. For a while they stood in silence, the only sounds in the room being the hiss of the lamp burning and the sounds of Mercedes chewing her food. 

Too soon, the meat was all gone, and Mercedes turned to wash the container it had been in. She wondered for a moment if Dedue was going to try to take it from her, as he did the last dish she’d tried to wash in his presence. To her mild disappointment, he stayed put. When Mercedes finished washing the dish and lay it on the drying rack, she swiped up the note she’d written and handed it to Dedue.

“I am so sorry that I ate your food, I slept through dinner and was hungry—” Dedue began to read the note aloud, an amused lilt to his tone.

“You don’t have to read it out loud!” Mercedes was flustered.

“Why did you write this?”

“Before you showed up, I was going to put it in place of whatever I ended up taking from the icebox.”

“Well, paying me back for the ingredients would be unnecessary,” he said with a tone of finality.

“I must pay you back somehow, though.”

Dedue looked away from her, gazing at something in the distance. She could hear him swallow before saying, “I… do enjoy the cookies that you bake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is a thing that I enjoy. If you feel so inclined, let me know what you think.


	3. Battle at Gaspard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes makes an unexpected friend during a tough battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Mercedes' supports with Felix. They deserve to have each other as missing sibling fill-ins.

Mercedes enjoyed peace—small moments of stillness and contentment between herself and the universe. Many of these moments had passed in the last few days—drinking tea with Annie, eating a large meal with her classmates, spending time alone with Dedue in the kitchens. She attempted to hold on to that warmth in her chest, even as their class silently marched through the mountains the next day. 

Poor Ashe was completely on edge, seeing as how they were marching towards his adoptive father’s estate—and with an escort from the church, no less. The presence of the knights of seiros, Catherine among them, was making Mercedes—along with most of her classmates—nervous. Ashe walked alone, apparently deep in thought, at the front of their group—just behind the knights of seiros. Behind Ashe, Marianne walked and the professor walked together, quiet stretching between them. Then came Ingrid and Sylvain chattering at each other, and Felix walking calmly on the other side of Ingrid. Those three seemed to always be together. 

Mercedes and Annette walked just behind the three of them, and Mercedes noted with interest how her friend’s brow furrowed in a way that was not very Annette-like. Something was on Annette’s mind.

Behind them, Mercedes could hear the soft lilt of Dedue and Dimitri’s voices as they spoke to each other in hushed tones. It was always hushed tones with those two, as if they were keeping a myriad of secrets. Mercedes didn’t look back, as she feared it would call their attention to her. Instead, she half-closed her eyes, listening to the barely-there intonations of the way that Dedue spoke. Not words, just sounds. It was quite peaceful.

They made camp for the night in a clearing in the woods. Mercedes would have loved nothing more in that moment than to curl up and go to sleep on her bedroll—she hadn’t slept much the night before, due to her seven-hour nap, but she wanted to be a gracious teammate, and so she busied herself walking amongst her classmates and making sure everyone was comfortable and happy. Annette stuck around, hovering by her elbow. 

“Hello, boys,” she said happily as she approached the spot where Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue were all having a seemingly hard time with the fire—not surprising since they were all inapt at magic, “would you like a hand?” She conjured up a fire spell in her left palm, keeping it small.

“Wow, Mercedes,” Sylvain said smoothly, “you’re beautiful _and_ resourceful. Your help would be greatly appreciated,” she smiled and released the spell. The logs crackled as they heated up rapidly. It was a warm day, so the heat of the fire was not particularly inviting, and Mercedes just gazed at it from a ways away. The power of her magic astounded her sometimes, it was so large and brilliant. 

“Hey, um, do you guys see that?” Annette asked from behind Mercedes, a strange edge suddenly in her voice. Mercedes didn’t turn her head immediately to look, thinking it was probably just another Annette thing—a trick of the light creating an unusual shadow. Those were the sorts of quirks of nature that Annette tended to point out. 

“I…do,” Felix responded, and Mercedes glanced up, first to the three boys, who were all looking in the direction that Annette had gestured, and then in that general direction, where a dense fog was quickly unfurling in their direction.

“Um, Professor?” Annette called out, but it was too late. The fog was upon them. Annette reached out and grasped Mercedes’ hand, and the blonde girl was relieved because had Annette not grabbed for her, she certainly would have reached out herself. She could see about half of Annette, and the vague shapes of Sylvain, Felix, and Dedue.

“This has to be them,” Annette whispered, a slight tremble to her voice, “where’s Ashe—?”

“Everyone!” The professor was calling out, from somewhere to the left of their group, “stay together as you are. Follow my voice if you’re alone.”

Mercedes felt a twinge of annoyance. To be ambushed as they were making camp just seemed too unfair. Annette squeezed her hand. Suddenly, though, a soft whooshing noise near Mercedes’ ear made her aware of an archer. Somewhere, nearby. Close enough to aim at her.

“Archers,” she warned, but too late it seemed—Sylvain hissed, struck in his left arm. A moment later, Dedue grunted as he dodged an axeman’s attack. Annette threw a cutting gale at the archer who had hit Sylvain, and Felix darted in front of her to finish the job as Mercedes dashed towards Sylvain, a healing spell already glowing around her fingers. Behind her, she could hear Dedue finishing off the man who’d attacked him. “Is everyone okay?” Mercedes raised her voice, and was relived to hear three affirmative answers, as she finished patching up Sylvain’s arm.

They followed the sounds of battle, their group staying together. Mercedes made sure she could always see one of the boys—she would inevitably need one of them to help her if she were to come under attack—a scenario that seemed all too likely in this dense fog.

“Someone—?” That was Annette’s voice, calling out for help. “Please!” The girl yelled, more desperate this time, and Mercedes began to make her way through the fog towards her friend. The sound of steel clashing in that general direction made Mercedes think that maybe Felix had come to her rescue. 

Suddenly, a huge weight fell into Mercedes’ side, throwing her off balance and causing her to stumble. It was Dedue, who had been thrown backwards by the force of an attack. “Excuse me,” he said, voice low, before charging back in the direction he’d been pushed from. Mercedes paused, seeing a bit of blood on Dedue’s sleeve and wondering if the blood was his or not. And was Annette hurt, too?

“Does anyone need me?” She called out, and this time Felix’s voice summoned her to where Annette was bleeding from her thigh. Mercedes patched her up as quickly as possible, while Felix and Sylvain protected them with sword and lance. 

“Mercedes?” Sylvain’s voice cut through the fog, laced with uncertainty. “Felix needs you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she heard the swordsman snap in response, though his voice was wavering. She heard a clash of arms, and moved towards it. Felix was protectively cradling his arm, while Sylvain fought off a bandit feet in front of him. The swordsman was clearly not fine. In fact, his shoulder was dislocated.

“Sylvain, when you’re done with that I need your help,” she told the red-haired boy, who laughed.

“at your service, milady,” she heard steel clash against steel once more, and leaned forward to inspect Felix’s shoulder. The muscles were tight, confused that his arm had left the socket it was made to rest within. Felix hissed as she touched him, pulling away in a way that reminded her of a kitten. A moment later, she heard the thud of a body hitting the ground, and Sylvain was beside her. “What do you need?” He asked, tone serious.

“I’m going to use my magic to loosen up his muscles, and you’re going to shove his arm back into its socket,” she said, keeping her tone light so as not to betray her nerves. She’d never done something like this, though she’d seen Manuela heal a dislocated shoulder on Caspar before, so she had an idea of how it was supposed to work.

When Felix moaned out in pain as Sylvain grabbed at his wrist, the older boy absolutely looked like he was about to faint. “I’m fine,” Felix repeated the last thing he had said, but Sylvain didn’t look like he believed him.

“Okay,” Mercedes said, and both boys glanced at her as if they had forgotten she was there, “I’m going to start, then count to three, then you push it back in socket.”

“Everyone duck!” Annette yelled from somewhere behind them and they all obeyed, a cutting gale sailing over their heads to hit its mark of a Gaspard soldier who had been trying to sneak up on them. As he faltered, a hand axe thrown by Dedue landed in his neck and he fell to the ground.

Mercedes used this moment to begin loosening the muscles around Felix’s socket. He screwed up his face, apparently disliking the sensation, “one,” Mercedes took a deep breath, “two,” she waited an even amount of time, “ _three_ ,” Felix yelped as Sylvain shoved his arm back against his body, a faint pop indicating that the procedure had been successful. Mercedes continued pushing her faith magic into her classmate for ten more seconds before releasing him. “Should be good as new,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

Felix moved his arm experimentally, was apparently pleased with her work, and looked at her with more open sincerity than she’d ever before seen in his eyes, “thank you, Mercedes,” he said before darting away—once again, reminding her of a kitten.

Her younger brother had reminded her of a kitten too, long ago. He was so excitable, such a warm soul. Felix’s soul had the same warmth, though he tucked it away beneath a prickly exterior. She was glad to think that she understood the boy a bit better.

“Mercie!” Annette cried from somewhere far away, “look out! Help her, Sylv—” Mercedes looked up in time to see someone coming straight at her, axed raised above his head. She though to cast a spell, but suddenly her mind was blank. Kill or be killed—she knew that was the law of the battlefield. She had no choice, no matter how it hurt her on the inside. _Thunder!_ her mind suddenly yelled at her, _that’s a spell!_

She felt the crackle against her palm of the spell beginning to charge, but the soldier was too close. She could see his eyes. He didn’t seem like a soldier to her, but like a regular man holding an axe. He faltered, clearly realizing that she was a mostly-defenseless healer. She pulled her arm back to cast the spell, and he slammed the blunt end of his axe down on her head. 

When she came to, Annette was crouched over her, hands glowing with healing magic. The girl was crying quietly. As soon as they made eye contact, though, Annette perked up. “She’s awake,” Annette called out. Mercedes blinked twice just to make sure—the fog was gone. It had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, or maybe she had just been passed out. 

“How long was I out?” Mercedes mumbled. Nearby, she could see the corpse of the man she’d refused to kill. How cowardly—dirtying the hands of her friends by refusing to dirty her own. She felt ashamed.

“Just a couple of minutes,” Annette responded, “Felix needs you, he’s bleeding a lot and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

This information encouraged Mercedes to spring into action. Without the fog surrounding them, she could see where Sylvain appeared to be putting pressure on Felix’s leg while Dedue fought off an array of enemies to keep the two other boys safe. “Go help Dedue,” she told Annette, rushing over to Felix. He was bleeding from a large gash in his thigh. Sylvain jumped away as Mercedes leaned in, a healing spell already in her hands.

“Thanks,” Felix hissed as she started to patch him up. “Keep fighting,” he then snapped at Sylvain, who looked somewhat sheepish as he stood to help Dedue and Annette. “Idiot,” Felix murmured to himself, “he cares more about dumb stuff like this than winning the battle.”

“He didn’t want you to bleed out,” Mercedes said simply, “I think he did the right thing,” Felix was stunned into silence by this, biting his lip as the skin around his wound twisted shut on itself, aided by her faith magic. 

Annette had just taken out the last of the nearby enemies when word started to spread that the battle was over—Lonato had been defeated by the professor. A knight appeared in a nearby clearing, shouting for remaining Gaspard soldiers to surrender. Mercedes frowned, her mind drifting to Ashe. How did Ashe feel about all of this? His adoptive father had fallen, after all. Fallen as a traitor to the church and the kingdom.

“I think I’m fine now,” Felix said, his voice even, and Mercedes looked down to realize that she was still absentmindedly funneling magic into his already-closed wound. She cut off the flow, pulling her hand away with a mumbled, “sorry.”

She next walked towards where Annette, Dedue, and Sylvain were standing in a small circle, breathing heavily. Annette had her axe grasped in both hands—she’d apparently had to pull it out towards the end of the battle. Sylvain had his steel lance planted in the earth and he was leaning on it, trying to catch his breath. Dedue was gritting his teeth, axe on the ground beside him, apparently trying to tend a wound on his forearm.

“Let me help you with that, Dedue,” Mercedes said, stepping towards him. 

He looked up at her, made a face like he was about to refuse her help, then slowly held out his arm to her. Mercedes suddenly remembered when his hand grasped hers in the kitchens a few weeks ago. That same hand was now reaching for her, even though its intent was for her to heal the ugly gash on his forearm. Wow, that was a lot of blood. It was dripping from the underside of his arm. Dedue cleared his throat and Mercedes realized she was just staring.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “let’s go sit over there,” she ushered him towards a large rock in the clearing, which he sat on, and she tore off a strip of her skirt, using it to wipe away some of the blood. More took its place immediately. “Annette,” Mercedes called and her still-out-of-breath friend was running towards the two of them. “I need you to tie this tightly around Dedue’s arm,” she said calmly, conjuring up a healing spell in both hands. She was getting tired, she hoped she had enough magic left to close this nasty wound. “Very tightly,” she added, handing off the strip of skirt to Annette and placing both of her hands over the wound.

Dedue’s arm was covered in blood, and Mercedes could hear him gritting his teeth as Annette pulled the strip of fabric tight around his bicep, tying it off when she was satisfied with its tautness. “Thanks,” Mercedes said dismissively, a bead of sweat forming on her brow as she focused on Dedue’s arm. She could see the skin starting to move towards itself across the gash, but not with the same speed that Felix’s had. She’d used a lot of magic on Felix.

“Mercedes,” Dedue said her name after a period of concentration so intense that she couldn’t tell how long it had been, “you can take a break,” he said gently, “most of the bleeding has stopped.”

Mercedes blinked. Her face was covered now in a sheen of sweat, and as she lifted her head, she found herself lightheaded, swaying back and forth in the spot where she stood. Without thinking, she sat on the rock beside Dedue, dropping her head into her hands momentarily. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so exhausted,” she lied. She had cast heal a good few times in the last hour, and she was running low on magic. But she needed to patch up Dedue, it was her job to make sure there were no injuries.

“It’s quite alright,” the Duscur boy said, and she kept her head in her hands, willing some strength to return. How embarrassing. 

“I can continue in a moment,” she murmured.

“Take your time,” Dedue responded kindly. For a long while—maybe an hour—the two of them sat on that rock together, Mercedes sweating with exhaustion from overusing her magic, and Dedue wincing as he tried not to grasp at the wound on his wrist. 

“how are you feeling?” Dedue finally asked her, as her mind was beginning to clear.

“Better,” she said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. She did feel marginally better. “Let me try again,” she could feel the spell beginning to warm her hand as she laid it on Dedue’s arm once more. The healing was slow, but it was happening. She could feel herself becoming exhausted again.

Dedue’s opposite hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder, making her jump. He withdrew his limb quickly, looking as if she’d burned him. She looked at him questioningly. “You don’t have to push yourself,” he said softly, “I’ll be okay. You can finish later.”

They were sitting close to each other, Mercedes could not remember the last time she was this close with someone who was not her mother, brother, or Annette. She could see the texture of Dedue’s face, the way soft, pale stubble was growing around his chin, the shadow cast by his cheekbones. He was looking at her. Why was he looking at her? He was waiting for her to respond.

“Oh,” she blushed, feeling quite useless, “I’d prefer if I could patch you up right away…” she trailed off. It was impossible. 

“You’ve done enough,” he tried to reassure her, “I feel much better than before.”

“Come find me in a couple of hours and I’ll finish?” She offered, and he nodded solemnly. For some strange reason, she felt her heart lighten. She didn’t want anyone else to finish healing his wound that she’d already started on. He was her patient, for now.

With one last furtive glance in her direction, Dedue began to drift back towards the rest of their class. Mercedes, feeling completely drained, remained seated on the rock. She watched him go regretfully, wishing that she had been better. She’d used so much magic on Felix that she didn’t have enough left for Dedue—of course, she didn’t regret healing the dark-haired swordsman, he was one of her beloved classmates. 

That being said, there was something about Dedue that made her want to heal him specifically. She wanted to give him her magic, to watch him thrive under her hands. She didn’t know him very well, but he was quiet and gentle, and his presence was calming to her. If only she had been able to heal him properly. How inadequate, she was.

In the distance, everyone was continuing to set up camp, which seemed to be difficult given the sun had long since gone down. The magic users of the group were all creating light for everyone else. Mercedes was not among her.

She rose from the rock she was seated on, calling her brightest sigil—thunder—to her palm as she took a step towards everyone else. Her knee wobbled as she put weight on her foot and the spell flickered out. She sank to her knees slowly, feeling useless.

She could hear footsteps approaching through the dark, “I thought I saw something over here,” Felix said, and she could see his boots, standing just in front of her. “What’s your problem?” he asked forcefully, but Mercedes was sure she could detect a hint of worry in his tone.

“Oh, I’m just…enjoying my time in nature,” she fixed a smile upon her face and looked up at him. Mercedes was usually a great smiler, and that was because her smiles were genuine. She loved her classmates and her friends, freely distributing smiles based on the joy that simply being in their presence brought her. This smile, though, was fake. She felt no joy in the moment. In fact, she was quite ashamed of herself, and in a bad mood because of it.

Felix looked down at her stonily for a moment before sitting down in front of her, crossing his legs. “You overused your magic,” he said, his voice not questioning at all. He knew. “You can’t do stuff like that.”

To Mercedes’ absolute horror, tears sprung to her eyes. “What am I supposed to do if people are wounded and I’m not strong enough to help everyone?” She asked Felix, as if he was supposed to have an answer for her. His eyes widened, obviously overwhelmed by the situation. 

“Certainly not cry on the ground,” was his response. 

“I don’t think…I can really move,” she admitted shamefully, “I don’t want to burden the others.”

“Mercedes,” Felix said flatly, not looking her in the eye but instead fixing his gaze on something to the left of her, “you saved me today. And Sylvain. And Annette. And Dedue. If you hadn’t been there to heal us, we all would have fallen. That’s your value to the team.”

Mercedes smiled at him again, and this time it was a real smile. He made a face back at her— in fact, it was the same face Emile use to make when she would smile at him through her tears. It was a face of relief. She was quite weepy in the time her younger brother had known her—always crying about something, or moping about something else. Emile used to enjoy cheering her up. Mercedes felt a surge of affection for the Fraldarius boy, feeling that although he looked nothing like her younger brother, perhaps his soul held some of the same essence. “Thank you, Felix,” she said sincerely.

He stood and offered her his arm, which she accepted gratefully. “If you’re really afraid of burdening the others,” Felix said as he helped her walk back towards camp, “I think that you’d hurt their feelings if you refused their help and were in pain because of it.”

He didn’t expect an answer, and she didn’t give one, though she thought with a glimmer of surprise that it was nice to have bonded with him like this, albeit under the shadow of a gruesome and exhausting battle. She hoped that when they returned to the monastery, she and Felix could become better friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of Dedue in this one, but not too much. Don't worry, though, he'll be back next time :)
> 
> I don't really have an update schedule planned for this, I'm just writing as I play. I updated two days in a row this time, but that probably won't happen too often.


	4. Blue Sea Moon (pt. 1) - a promise made and a lesson in precision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes finally bakes Dedue his cookies, and begins attending Jeritza's sword seminar.

The Blue Sea Moon arrived, just as the Garland Moon departed. Mercedes watched the sunrise from the bridge by the cathedral, thinking wistfully about the passage of time. It was strange, to think that someone was targeting the church—and more specifically, the archbishop. She’d thought of Garreg Mach as being a peaceful, well-protected place, but would someone who wanted to do them harm really be able to infiltrate?

When the sun had risen high enough that the light began to hurt Mercedes’ eyes, she went inside to pray. She’d had a hard time at the battle a few days earlier, and had been feeling particularly down ever since. Annette had even commented that she hadn’t seen much of Mercedes recently, and of course that was because she only left her room to pray and go to class. 

She’d woken up that morning, though, thinking of broken promises. She’d told Dedue she would bake him cookies, and more than a week had passed since then. Mercedes felt that Dedue must hate her by now—she’d failed to make him his cookies, and failed to fully heal his wound after battle. How inadequate she must seem to him. She sighed.

A heavy feeling of uncertainty followed her to the greenhouse where she took some rosemary from her secret bush, and then to the kitchens. She briefly hoped that Annette would not find her baking this morning, because the girl would be scandalized to find Mercedes baking cookies for someone other than herself. Of course, she would save one for Annie. It would simply make her a bad friend if she were to not.

Mercedes decided to make these cookies better than usual. She would make her usual sugar cookies, then garnish them with candied rosemary, and was quite excited for the touch that it was sure to add. She candied the rosemary first, setting the sugary herbs aside while she mixed the dough. Finally, she put the cookies down, brushed some egg whites on top, sprinkled the rosemary over that, and put the tray of cookies into the oven.

She was reading, waiting for the cookies to finish baking, when Dedue walked in. Her book today was a tale of chivalry and adventure, not romance (for once). The knight in the story was overseas, in a foreign land. Mercedes wondered absently what foreign lands might be like. A place with a different culture and different values—how strange. She longed to see one for herself.

She didn’t notice that she was no longer alone until Dedue cleared his throat. He was standing nearby, holding the filet of what must have at one point been a very large pike. “Hello, Dedue,” she smiled at him, hoping he couldn’t see that it was a bit forced.

“Mercedes,” he greeted her back, laying the fish down on the counter beside where she was sitting. Mercedes glanced back at her book, thinking he was finished speaking. “I haven’t seen you around,” Dedue continued, after a long pause. He had noticed?

Mercedes looked up from her book. He noticed when she wasn’t around? “I haven’t been feeling well,” she half-lied. Her illness was mental, not physical. No need to divulge, though. 

Dedue’s brow furrowed and his gaze darkened for a moment. “Are you alright now?” He asked.

 _Yes, I think so,_ Mercedes wanted to say. She could practically hear herself saying it. Instead, she said: “I’m not quite sure,” Dedue didn’t say anything, but there was electric curiosity floating in the air around him. He wanted her to elaborate. He was waiting for her to say more. “I…I don’t know if I’m cut out to fight like we do. I…I don’t even keep a weapon on me, you know? I’m so afraid that I’ll accidentally hurt myself or someone I care about,” once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. The words just kept coming. “And at Gaspard, I couldn’t even kill a man who was attacking me. If he hadn’t shown mercy, I would be—”

“Mercedes,” Dedue cut her off gently, and she realized that she was crying. When had she started crying? Dedue’s green eyes were clear and concerned as he looked down at her, and she felt she couldn’t hold his gaze. She quickly swiped at her eyes with her sleeves, and— _oh, the cookies!_ Mercedes sprang up from where she was seated and ran to the oven, pushing the door open. Forgetting herself, she reached in to grab the tray with her bare hand, recoiling at the heat but not quickly enough to spare her fingers from getting burned. “Allow me,” Dedue said, suddenly behind her, a rag in his hands. He used it to grip the cookie tray and remove it from the oven, setting them down on the counter beside his workspace.

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes was saying, cradling her burned hand close to her chest. “Sometimes I really don’t know when to stop talking, I don’t mean to trouble you with my thoughts…” she trailed off.

Dedue reached out and took her hand in both of his, inspecting the burns on her palm and fingers. His grip was simultaneously firm and gentle, and his touch added an extra dimension of heat to her burned hand. “This is bad,” he murmured, gently leading her to the nearest sink, running the water, and placing her hand beneath it. She winced at the sensation. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m just so forgetful sometimes, I can’t believe I did that—” she was blabbering. How embarrassing. She only ever seemed to embarrass herself around Dedue.

“You have no reason to apologize to me,” Dedue reassured her, “I merely wish that I could have had the forethought to warn you ahead of time and prevent this.”

“You’re so kind, Dedue,” she murmured, “I don’t deserve such treatment from you.”

“Don’t you?”

Mercedes maneuvered her hands so that Dedue was no longer holding hers, but she had his wrist in _her_ grip. A gnarly scar marred the skin where she’d failed to fully close his wound. “If I’d been able to heal you properly, this wouldn’t…”

“Scars do not bother me,” he reassured her, “I do not begrudge you.”

“And it took me a whole week to make your cookies,” she continued. 

Dedue glanced at the cookies, a muted hunger in his eyes. “Those are for me?” He asked, disbelieving.

“Of course they are,” he looked at her, stars in his eyes. It made her feel embarrassed, and she glanced down at his chin, finding his eyes too intense. 

“All of them?” He pressed, as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“Well, I might take one for myself, and one for Annie. But other than that…”

For a moment, Dedue smiled. It was not something that Mercedes had seen from him before, a full teeth-baring grin. It suited him. She found herself also smiling. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to have one now,” he backed away from her, towards the cookies. “Did you get this rosemary from the greenhouse?” He asked, and Mercedes nodded. “I know the bush you got it from,” he said fondly, picking up a cookie carefully, as if it would fall away into nothingness if he gripped it too tightly.

Mercedes watched intently as he chewed and swallowed a small bite. His eyes drifted towards hers, though he wasn’t yet looking directly at her. He began to speak again. “You know,” he took a breath, “I, too, suffer,” he was speaking slowly, apparently choosing his words carefully, “from feelings of inadequacy,” there was a long pause. He did? Mercedes had a hard time imagining the insurmountable Dedue feeling inadequate. He looked up to meet Mercedes’s eye, “your feelings are misplaced. You’re a gentle person, and that is nothing to feel ashamed over. If you feel inclined to better protect yourself, take up a sword. If you would rather not, I’m here—we’re all here, the whole rest of the house—to protect you.”

Mercedes felt a rush of affection at her core as she looked up at the Duscur boy. He seemed so large and imposing to the untrained eye, but in reality his personality was soft and warm. “Dedue,” she said his name out loud before she could stop herself.

“Yes?” was his response.

She remembered a bit of blood on his sleeve. Early in the battle at Gaspard, long before she’d seen the gash on his arm, she’d seen the blood on his sleeve. Even before Felix had been hurt, she’d seen Dedue’s blood and hadn’t even realized it. “You were hurt early in that battle. I saw blood on your sleeve. When I asked if anyone needed me, though—”

“I was fine in the moment,” Dedue responded, “had the wound overwhelmed me, I would have called for you.”

“Will you make a deal with me?” She asked suddenly, surprising even herself. Dedue’s eyes widened, but he did not immediately reject her idea. “You can protect me,” she felt embarrassed even saying something like that, _allowing_ him to protect her felt too presumptuous—who was to say he even wanted to protect her in the first place? He had said it, though… “But you have to let me heal you. Immediately. No matter how insignificant you think the wound is.”

Dedue took a step towards her. Were they of similar heights, they would have been nose-to-nose, but he was a good bit taller than her and so she craned her neck to look up at him. “I believe I said that we are all here to protect you, not just myself,” he said, his voice barely louder than a deep breath.

“But I want to make a deal with _you_ ,” she said, feeling bold.

“I—”

“Dedue, are you—?” Dimitri’s question died on his tongue as he froze in the entrance of the kitchens. There was a moment of complete stillness—Mercedes and Dedue were standing inches apart from each other, momentarily unable to tare their gazes from each other to greet Dimitri. Then, like a rubber band snapping, the two sprung apart. Mercedes could feel her cheeks and ears reddening as she began to toy nervously with her ponytail. “I’ve interrupted something. Apologies,” the prince said, backing through the door. Mercedes could hear his footsteps retreating as she looked everywhere except at Dedue.

“I’ll accept your terms,” Dedue finally said, as if they’d never been interrupted, “but you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. That’s my term.” Mercedes glanced up at him as he took another bite of the cookie he’d been nibbling on. 

“I stop being hard on myself, you protect me, I heal you,” Mercedes repeated back and Dedue nodded firmly.

“Shall we shake on it?” Dedue asked, though his hand did not move towards hers. She found herself nodding, reaching towards him before she could even realize the implications of the action. Reaching for a boy’s hand in the kitchens on the first day of the Blue Sea Moon? The summer heat must have been doing strange things to her. 

Before she could think to retract her hand, though, Dedue grasped it firmly in his own. She’d thought about his hands for weeks after he first touched her—it had been an accident that time.

His hand was just as large and warm and firm and soft as she’d remembered. his fingers easily engulfed hers, and they formally shook hands a few times, performing this charade as if it was truly a simple handshake for the sake of a deal. 

It was only a few moments later that Mercedes realized that she was certainly participating in something more than a simple handshake. Dedue’s hand stayed where it was, holding her own. And her fingers continued to cling to his—her grip was not large enough to fit all the way around the girth of his hand. With her pinky, she began to absentmindedly caress the skin of his hand. At the same moment, his thumb drew a soft circle on the skin of the back of her hand and she looked up at him. He was looking at the place where their hands were connected, a strange expression on his face.

Suddenly, Mercedes felt incredibly overwhelmed. “Um,” she said lamely, and Dedue dropped her hand instantly, his eyes flickering up to hers. Her hand felt cold without his—almost to the point that she was tempted to reach out once more. She forced her hand back to her side. “I appreciate your willingness to listen to my uncertainties,” she said sincerely, “and I look forward to healing you,” she smiled up at him, “no matter how small the wound. You’ll tell me, right?”

“I will,” he said, conviction in his voice. “If you’ll confide in me again.”

“I will,” she said, and she wanted to shake his hand again—or, rather, pretend to shake his hand for the sake of holding his hand. Instead, she nodded at him. “Right. I’m going to take two of the cookies for myself, but the rest are yours.”

“I will savor them,” he told her solemnly, “they are quite delicious.”

A sheet of awkwardness covered the room as Mercedes carefully gathered up two of the cookies in her hand, holding her book in the opposite hand as she darted out of the kitchens and away from Dedue.

 _Heavens!_ Mercedes thought as she arrived back at her dorm room, bolting the door shut behind her. Dedue was…unlike anyone she’d ever met. She thought of his quiet smoldering gaze, his bright green eyes, his bronze-toned skin and soft white hair—well, his hair _looked_ soft. She’d never touched it before, but she knew in her heart that it would be soft. Everything else about Dedue was soft and gentle and wonderful, so why would his hair be any different?

Mercedes sighed, settling down to finish her novel—she only had around a hundred pages left, easily accomplishable in an afternoon. The story was quite interesting, but she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering towards her stoic classmate. She wondered how he was preparing the fish fillet he’d had with him. It was certain to be delicious—as everything Dedue cooked was. She shook her head, refocused on the book, and made it four more lines before she was thinking about Dedue again. What would the skin of his cheek feel like under her fingers? How would it feel to be pressed against him? 

“Mercedes,” the professor’s voice resonated through the door accompanied by a sharp knocking, and Mercedes sat straight up in bed, her book tumbling off the edge. What would he be doing, knocking on her door? 

“One moment, professor!” She said pleasantly, considering the idea of kicking some of her piles into neatness before allowing the professor to enter her room. She decided that it was too much of a bother, and that her room was probably just fine in its state of mess. The professor didn’t seem like one to judge, anyway. “What a pleasant surprise,” she smiled, allowing the blue-haired man into her room. He nodded at her, looking around appraisingly at her nest. He didn’t seem to be judging, just…observing. Mercedes cleared her throat, which seemed to refocus her professor’s thoughts.

“I want you to begin attending Jeritza’s sword seminar. Tomorrow morning. Dimitri, Felix, Ingrid, and Marianne will be there as well.”

“Sword?” Mercedes repeated.

“Yes. You need to be able to fight with a real weapon, even if you don’t plan on using it,” the professor always spoke in such simple terms, as if everything should be obvious. “I’d like for you to become more adept at the sword.”

“Okay,” Mercedes said, unsure of herself. She just needed to become more adept with the sword, that didn’t mean she would ever necessarily have to stab anyone. “I’ll be sure to be there tomorrow. Do you need anything else from me?”

“No, that’s all,” he responded shortly.

“In that case, I hope you have a lovely day,” Mercedes smiled at the professor and he made a face that couldn’t accurately be described as a smile _or_ a grimace before seeing himself out of her room.

She didn’t finish reading her book that night. She was too busy daydreaming about Dedue’s hand wrapped around her own.

The next morning, Mercedes was the last person to arrive at the training grounds. Her burned hand still hurt, so she had bandaged it up with a salve, which had made her late. Everyone stood around in easy-to-move-in move in loungewear, making her especially glad that she’d thought to wear hers. Ingrid, Petra, and Leonie stood talking to each other in a small semi-circle—three noble female knights, Mercedes thought at the sight of them. Dimitri and Marianne stood together in the corner, looking like quite the odd pair. Felix was already attacking a training dummy with a wooden sword, and Dorothea lingered by herself, somewhere between the group of girls and Felix. 

Near the back of the training grounds stood Jeritza, the seminar’s advisor. He was a strange, masked man. Mercedes had seen him around in recent weeks, though he rarely seemed to engage with anyone and was something of an enigma.

“Hello, Felix,” Mercedes said, approaching the dark-haired swordsman—certainly, of this seminar’s attendees, he was the one closest to being something that she could call a friend. 

Felix looked up at her, surprise hanging in his gaze at having been singled out by her. In the end, he nodded in acknowledgement of Mercedes’ presence, and raised his sword to continue beating the dummy.

It was in that moment, though, that their professor began to speak. “Good morning,” Jeritza said, his tone indicating that he was less enthused about the goodness of this morning than his words suggested.

“Good morning,” Mercedes said, Dorothea, and Petra all said at the same time. The rest of the group was eyeing the masked man quietly. There had been rumors flying around about Jeritza—such tends to happen when one wears an eternal mask. Even Mercedes was mildly curious as to what he was hiding on his face beneath. “Sword-fighting,” the man said, “is about fearlessness, precision, and confidence. Without these three aspects, there is no art of the sword.”

 _Great,_ Mercedes thought, _three things I’m horrible at._ She glanced over at Felix, who was nodding as if he already knew that. “Today, we will be training to hone precision.”

It turned out, an activity tailored by Jeritza to hone precision was also an inadvertent lesson in fearlessness. They were to pair up and throw small pointed pellets at each other, then attempt to catch these pellets in their hands. Precision in throwing and catching. Oh, and the pellets hurt like a hornet sting when they hit their mark. 

Mercedes paired up with Felix, whom she just happened to be standing closest to. He volunteered to have her be the thrower first. He already had the confidence that Jeritza spoke of before. He also possessed fearlessness. As Mercedes began to hurl pellets at him, not even for a moment did he shrink away. He was hit a fair few times, the pellets leaving angry red marks where they hit that would surely bruise later. Instead of shying from the pellets, he tried to follow them, single-mindedly focused on the catch. 

His reflexes were quick, and he caught the pellet more times than he didn’t, even when she tried to throw it in trickier ways.

A few feet to their left, Marianne and His Highness both appeared to be suffering. Dimitri didn’t want to throw the darts at Marianne, and she was horrible at catching them, leaving her even more battered and bruised than Felix—or anyone else in the room, for that matter. The pair seemed to close to communal tears.

To their right, Ingrid and Dorothea were bickering. Well, more accurately, as Ingrid hurled the pellets at Dorothea, the dark-haired sorceress was flirtatiously goading the blonde, in a way that was so uniquely Dorothea. “Ingrid, you for real looked so cute when you threw that last pellet at me! And this one, too—” Dorothea swooned, then immediately yelped as she was caught in the ribs by another pellet. The fourth pair in the room was Petra and Leonie on the other side of Ingrid and Dorothea, who had a silent intensity hanging around them as they both earnestly tried their hardest.

Jeritza moved between the pairs, watching everyone try to catch pellets. Petra had caught twenty-one, and Felix twenty—a fact that Mercedes could tell was driving the Fraldarius boy insane. Dorothea had caught thirteen and Marianne had caught eight. Mercedes watched Jertiza come to a stop in front of the blue-haired girl.

“You are afraid of the pellets. But they can’t hurt you,” he said.

“They do hurt, though, sir,” Marianne responded timidly.

“They hurt on the surface, yes,” Jeritza told her solemnly, “but do they hurt your soul?”

“Um.”

“They can’t really harm you. So you can stop thinking that they will. Try again,” the young professor tried to impart in Marianne, taking a step back and nodding to Dimitri to throw again.

Mercedes felt a strange twisting in her gut as she watched this conversation unfold. Something about Jertiza was familiar, uncomfortably so. She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. There was something about his hair, about his gait, about the lilt to his tone and even the way that he held himself. 

Felix coughed, trying to get her attention. She’d stopped throwing the pellets since Jeritza was talking to Marianne, and Felix was obviously trying to beat Petra’s record, but that would be impossible if Mercedes didn’t keep throwing the pellets. At the sound of Felix’s cough, Jeritza glanced in their direction, his eyes briefly meeting Mercedes’. Beyond the mask, the man had soft grey-blue eyes. Something was familiar about those, too. 

She threw another dart at Felix, who was ready to catch it. He grinned as he showed it to her. She giggled—throwing pellets at Felix was like playing with a kitten. He was so focused and entertained, it was pleasant to participate in.

Having pellets thrown at her was much more challenging than being the thrower. She did not feel as kitten-like as Felix had looked. In fact, she was almost as bad at it as Marianne. She remembered what Jeritza had told her blue-haired peer—the pellets can’t hurt your soul. They did still badly sting, but she tried to ignore that. Even when she caught them in her bandaged hands, they stung over her burn.

As the session went on, Felix had mercy on Mercedes and began to give her tips. “Start watching it while it’s still in my hand,” he’d say, and that made it much easier. Even as she followed the path of the pellet, she was uncoordinated and it would often just barely escape her grasp, or hit her on the wrist. There were a disproportionate number of welts on her catching arm.

“Stop,” Felix told her, as she shook her hand in frustration. She paused to look at him. “Take a deep breath,” she obeyed, “another,” once again, she obeyed. As she took deep breaths, she began to feel her extremities in a new way. Her fingers felt warm. Felix threw another pellet. She watched it from when it was still in his hand, took another deep breath as it sailed through the air, and she reached out and caught it soundly, arm stretched towards Felix as she caught it in the air between them.

“Did you see that?” She exclaimed, looking up at him. 

“Of course I saw that. Good job,” was his response. 

“I didn’t even know I could catch it like that!” She was excited now. “Throw more!”

And so she began to take deep breaths, which helped her precision in catching the pellets even more. Felix, it turned out, was a very accurate thrower. Whereas most of Marianne’s pellets were sailing over Dimitri’s head, or swinging wide, Felix almost always threw it directly at Mercedes. She wasn’t one for self-pity, but she couldn’t help but look down at her own arms and legs, then around the room, and notice that she was far more battered than anyone else there. 

She cursed, hand flying to her forehead as a pellet hit her just above the left eye. It was the first pellet to the face anyone had received, and of course it would be Mercedes on the receiving end. 

All-in-all, they spent about two hours throwing pellets at each other. The eight students looked about ready to die when Jeritza finally dismissed them for the day. Every part of Mercedes ached—she hadn’t undergone rigorous training like that in some time…actually, maybe ever. Training at the sorcerers’ academy had been different from this, less physical.

And they hadn’t even gotten to hold a sword! How dreadful. Despite her ill feelings about the class, though, Mercedes did feel that she had greatly improved during that session, albeit at the skill of catching pellets thrown by Felix.

Mercedes spared a last glance at Jeritza as she exited the training grounds. What was it about him that was so strange to her? He didn’t look at her, and she left.

“Oh my goodness, Mercie, what happened to you?” Annette yelled—she happened to be approaching the training grounds on her way to the common room, Ashe walking beside her. In Mercedes’ brief bout of not leaving her room, Annette had apparently been filling her spare time hanging out with Ashe. The poor boy couldn’t seem to get over Lonato, and no one could blame him.

“Sword seminar,” Mercedes said exhaustedly. “It was dreadful, Annie,” she tried to impart drama into her words, and it apparently worked because her friend giggled. 

“You look like a tortoiseshell cat,” the girl said, “so many bruises.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Mercedes argued, and she fell into step with Annette and Ashe on their quest for the common room. Dedue sat in a corner, crouched over a book. Mercedes willed herself not to blush as she glanced at him, thinking of their promise from the day before. Mercedes huddled with Ashe and Annette around a desk near the door. Ashe was talking about something, and Mercedes joined Annette in nodding along with his story, though she wasn’t really following it. He arms and legs were beginning to ache.

“Oh my goodness! You too, your highness?” Annette exclaimed. Dimitri had just entered the common room, apparently looking for Dedue—often when those two were apart, they were looking for each other. “What happened at the sword seminar to beat you two up like that?”

Dimitri smiled darkly at Annette, “A lesson in precision,” he told her, and Mercedes giggled. In the truest and simplest terms, that was what had happened. Mercedes glanced in Dedue’s direction to find that he was gazing at her, a faint crease visible between his eyebrows. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the lounging ensemble she wore, and how it left her arms and legs bare. As he caught her gaze, Dedue looked away, but he was frowning. Then, the prince greeted him and the two were once more in their own private world together. Mercedes moved from where she sat with Ashe and Annette to a couch in the corner, feeling too exhausted to even make her way back to her room.

Mercedes generally avoided the common room couch, as she knew it was a popular place for students to have their way with each other at odd hours, but she was so exhausted today. Her head hit the armrest, and her eyes almost immediately drifted shut. 

When she woke, hours later, the common room was empty and she was partially covered by a large uniform jacket. For a moment, she wondered whose it might be, but deep down she already knew. After all, the fabric smelled like spices and soil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having so much fun writing this fic! Dedue and Mercedes are king and queen of the sweethearts, and it shows.
> 
> lmk what you think in the comments if you feel so inclined :)


	5. Blue Sea Moon (pt. 2) - a realization and a soak in the sauna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes can't help but find her sword instructor eerily familiar. 
> 
> She gets her C support with Dimitri
> 
> She has a vivid dream about her brother and goes to ponder in the sauna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok the jeritza spoilers start being very relevant and obvious in this chapter so if you don't want that, don't read it.

Jeritza’s sword seminar was held on Tuesdays and Fridays, and so three mornings later, Mercedes found herself rolling out of bed begrudgingly, thinking of the bruises on her arms and legs that still had yet to fade from her pellet-throwing ordeal on Tuesday. Her hands were still blistered, though the burns had significantly faded. She hoped that she didn’t end up messing them up at the seminar.

Dimitri was standing alone in the training grounds—not even Jeritza had shown up yet, and the prince looked quite lonely standing there. 

“Good morning, your highness,” Mercedes chirped, approaching him, “how are you doing today?”

He looked over at her curiously, “hello, Mercedes,” he responded with equal politeness, “I’m doing well, thanks for asking, and how about you?”

“Oh, just fine,” she played with a piece of hair, internally giggling. What a generic, boring conversation. She wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Why are you learning the sword?” Dimitri asked her suddenly, and she shrugged noncommittally. “The professor wants me to,” that, of course, was the real reason. Dimitri accepted it with a nod. “And it wouldn’t be bad to have a certification under my belt for something other than magic,” she added, “I’d like to be a more versatile soldier for you,” she smiled in his direction. After all, that was the true reason why they were all here in the first place—to protect Dimitri, to make sure he ascended the throne in Fhirdiad. 

“Are you going to take the test this moon?” He pressed her and she frowned.

In theory, obtaining a sword certification was a good idea—it would, in fact make Mercedes a better soldier. In reality, though, taking the test this very moon? that seemed pretty soon for someone who could barely catch pellets and had yet to even touch a sword. “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally, “we’ll see how I’m feeling after class today.”

Her awkward conversation with his highness didn’t last long before footsteps once more approached—this time, Felix and Ingrid were walking into the room shoulder-to-shoulder, both making sour faces. Ingrid walked over to where Mercedes and Dimitri stood together and Felix stalked off in the opposite direction.

“Good morning, Ingrid,” Mercedes smiled at her blonde-haired classmate.

Ingrid scoffed, apparently annoyed, then looked up at Mercedes guiltily, “sorry, I didn’t mean to scoff at you. Good morning, Mercedes,” she said weakly. “And to you as well, your highness,” she nodded to Dimitri. A beat of awkwardness passed between the three of them.

It occurred to Mercedes that while Dimitri and Ingrid often spoke to each other, neither of them were particularly close to _her_ , and she must therefore be the source of the awkwardness. “Excuse me,” she nodded politely to the two of them and moved towards Felix. 

“Your hand looks awful,” he greeted her, and she glanced down at her blistery hand. Sure it was red, but it didn’t look that bad.

“No, it’s fine,” Mercedes insisted.

“Why didn’t you get Annette to heal it?” He pressed. It had been three days since the incident with her bare hand and the oven, and her hand really _was_ healing.

“It’s just a little burn,” Mercedes shrugged, “it didn’t bother me on Tuesday.”

“You had it wrapped on Tuesday,” Felix argued. “You’ll have a hard time gripping a sword with your hand like that.”

“Good morning, everyone!” Dorothea sang from the entrance of the training grounds, then giggled to herself as the sound echoed. She was tailed by Petra and Leonie, leaving Marianne and their professor as the two who had not yet arrived.

Felix had walked over to Ingrid and Dimitri were, and he cooly ignored the Prince’s existence as he greeted Ingrid. Mercedes watched curiously from a corner.

Everyone lazed around for about ten minutes after the eighth bell—the time that class was supposed to start—before Jertiza arrived. He didn’t seem to be in a rush, despite his lateness. He just looked over everyone before beginning to speak. “Pair up—one sword per pair,” he said, ignoring the fact that there was an odd number of students. 

Mercedes looked around, only to find that that the other students had clumped together around her—Ingrid and Dimitri, Felix and Dorothea, Leonie and Petra. Mercedes blinked at her exclusion, bewildered. “Excuse me, professor,” she approached Jeritza and he turned to look at her, a strange expression in his eyes beyond the mask. It was almost like weariness, “I don’t have a partner,” she continued earnestly. 

“Just get a sword,” he said, looking away from her, “I’ll partner with you until the eighth arrives,” the eighth being Marianne, though Jertiza didn’t seem like the type to learn names. As Mercedes moved towards the rack of wooden swords in the corner, Jeritza addressed everyone again: “today, we will repeat the pellet exercise from Tuesday, but you must block them with a sword this time rather than catching them.”

Mercedes held in a groan. Catching the pellets had been hard enough, but blocking them with swords? She felt lightheaded as she took a training sword in her hands and walked to stand near the professor.

Something about Jeritza truly bothered her, and the longer she was around him, the more it itched in the back of her mind. What was it about him that set off alarm bells in her head? “Shall we begin?” He asked her as everyone lined up, holding a bag of pellets in his hand.

Mercedes gritted her teeth and looked down the line of students already wielding their swords. Ingrid, Felix, and Leonie all seemed to know how to grip a sword—their training swords rested with ease in their grips. Mercedes looked at Leonie’s hands beside her and tried to configure hers the same way on the sword’s handle.

Jeritza stood silently, lined up beside Petra, waiting for her to be ready. “Okay,” Mercedes finally said, nodding at him when she was satisfied with her grip and stance. She watched the pellet from when it was still in Jeritza’s gloved hand, but failed to account for how the sword elongated her arm and she needed to start her swing sooner. As she swung, the pellet hit her right in the middle of the forehead.

“Apologies,” Jeritza said, and though his voice sounded sarcastic, Mercedes saw a familiar guilt in his eyes when she peered at them. Why exactly was his gaze familiar? She shook her head, trying to refocus her thoughts as he prepared to throw another pellet at her.

It turned out, when trying to block the pellets with a sword, it was necessary to do a good bit of predictive thinking. As soon as Mercedes decided which direction she thought the pellet was going, she began to swing her sword, and she often missed the pellet by mere centimeters. Jeritza’s aim was even better than Felix’s and she was getting hit often in the chest and stomach, the tiny burn of the pellets mixing with bruises still remaining from Tuesday’s seminar.

Marianne never showed up that day, and so for both hours, Mercedes faced the full brunt of Jeritza’s pellet-throwing skills. Even as all of the other pairs switched, Jeritza looked at her evenly and said, “your skills are the least among this group, and so you should practice the most,” which was mildly insulting, but also entirely true. 

“Thank you for partnering with me today,” Mercedes told her professor before she went to put her sword away, “I appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jeritza said, sounding like it was not at all anything remotely close to being a pleasure. Mercedes met his eyes again, and was again struck by a strange feeling of deja vu. His eyes were such a familiar color, a soft shade of pale blue. If only he would remove the mask. He turned and walked away, leaving Mercedes with her thoughts.

She felt the same ache as she left the training grounds that she had felt a few days earlier on Tuesday, and she would have returned to her bed to sleep if not for Manuela’s lecture, which was scheduled to begin at the eleventh bell, giving her exactly one hour of free time. She returned to her dorm first, to change from her loungewear into her regular class uniform. She also grabbed her notes for Manuela’s lecture and a book to read, both of which she dropped into a canvas bag hung over her shoulder.

Then, she departed, searching for a quiet place to read. The library was never good during weekdays, it was filled with the chatter of students and the absence of any rule of law by Tomas. Sometimes it seemed as if that man simply didn’t care about the noise levels in his library. 

There was a nook in the greenhouse, a small one-person bench at the end of a row of plants that Mercedes liked to visit when no one else was around. As she peeked inside, she was relieved to find it empty and quickly scurried over to claim her bench. 

She loved the way that light filtered through the windowed ceiling of the greenhouse, but she was also quite hot—sweaty already from the sword seminar, accompanied by the sweltering heat of a midsummer’s day. She rolled her sleeves up and her socks down, then untied the top of her shirt, leaving the neck slightly open as she pored over her book, intent on absorbing as many words as possible.

Mercedes conveniently thought to check the greenhouse clock right at ten minutes till eleven—just enough time to get to the lecture hall. Annette was waiting for her, chattering with Lysithea in the hallway outside of the hall.

“Mercie!” Annette waved, then frowned, “did you have that scary seminar again today?” Mercedes laughed, looking down at the freshly bruising welts on her arms and chest.

“Do you even have to ask?” was her response as they entered the lecture hall together. Marianne was present here, even though she’d been absent from Jeritza’s seminar either. Mercedes made eye contact with Dorothea across the room, and somehow just knew that they were thinking that same thought. Beside Marianne sat Linhardt. Mercedes, Annette, and Lysithea sat in a little clump together, and Manuela began talking as soon as everyone was seated.

Manuela liked to go on tangents, as well as sprinkle in unnecessary information in her lectures. Mercedes had learned early that the key to taking notes in a Manuela lecture was to discern what information was most important, while instantly filtering out the extra. She’d become quite adept at it, though she sometimes found herself writing down the extra details. There was nothing wrong with embellishment, of course, but the woman spoke so much that Mercedes’ writing hand was often sore at the end of one of her lectures.

Today was no exception. Mercedes’ hand didn’t stop writing for even a moment during the three hour lecture—of course, if it had, she would have fallen asleep. She was quite exhausted, and Manuela’s rants could be hard to follow if not for note taking. “Mercie, can I copy your notes?” Annette asked as class ended.

“Of course, but did you not take your own?” Mercedes asked, pushing her notes together into a little pile.

“I did, but…um…” Mercedes looked down at Annette’s notes. It was three and a half pages of illegible pictures. Mercedes’, meanwhile, were a stack of eight pages, and very neatly taken.

Mercedes couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s funny, you’re a much better study than me, yet my notes are so much neater.”

Annette shrugged, “lectures are too fast, I can’t get the words down. I’m good at studying, though.”

They were walking out of the lecture hall together, into the afternoon light. It was two in the afternoon, and Mercedes had not yet eaten that day. She and Annette meandered towards the kitchens and ate some fish stew, which was the daily special. “Oh shoot,” Annette jumped out of her seat, “what time is it?” They both glanced over at the clock over the door, which read quarter til three. “I was supposed to meet with Ashe to study, I have to go!” Annette sprang up from her spot on at the dining table, rushing her plate back to the kitchen, waving to Mercedes as she flitted away.

Mercedes wasn’t sure what to do with her afternoon in the absence of Annette. She was tempted to return to her room, but sure she’d sleep the afternoon away if she did that. She found herself approaching the training ground as she drifted towards the common rooms.

Inside, she could see Dimitri, practicing his form with a sword. Raphael was also there, along with Caspar—the two were sparring, as they often did together.

Mercedes stood in the entrance of the training grounds, watching the prince’s form. The sword seemed to so elegantly become part of his arm—how was the extra length not awkward for him? Of course, he also used lances, which were much longer than swords. Mercedes frowned. Dimitri seemed to sense her presence and looked up at her, a question in his eyes.

“My goodness. Sword training again? Don't overdo it, all right?” She said kindly as she stepped towards him.

His highness lowered his sword, “I certainly won't, but thanks for your concern, Mercedes. It's more of a hobby than anything, so don't worry too much,” he said, always so formal. He reminded her of Dedue, but of course that made sense—the two were best friends, of course they would share a few mannerisms.

“A hobby? How wonderful!” Mercedes couldn’t imagine having a hobby that was also productive. “I would probably get tired of it, but that's just me.”

“Didn't you say you hoped to take the sword test soon?” Dimitri asked her suspiciously, something of an accusation in his tone. 

Mercedes bit her lip. How to respond? She didn’t _really_ hope to take the sword test, but she had told that like to Dimitri that very morning. She couldn’t very well back down on it now. “You're right! I completely forgot that's coming up! What should I do?” She knew the answer—train, like Dimitri was doing now. She didn’t visit the training grounds very often.

“To be honest, I was a bit worried when you told me that, as I haven't seen you at the training ground much,” Dimitri admitted, and Mercedes cocked her head. He had no reason to worry about her sword test. He was a prince, after all. “Why don't you let me help you with your swordsmanship?” He asked, and it seemed he was as surprised by himself giving the offer as she was.

“You would do that for me?” Mercedes asked, disbelieving. Then, she realized: if he was helping her, maybe she really did stand a chance at a certification. “I'd really appreciate your help!”

“OK, but keep in mind that since we're short on time, we may have to ‘overdo it’ a little,” Dimitri warned her. 

Mercedes frowned, “I don't like to overdo it, but if we must. I'll try my best,” she did want to improve at the sword, after all—the faster she improved, the faster she’d be able to put the whole ordeal of getting better behind her.

“Let's begin, then,” Dimitri said, holding out the sword he had been swinging for her to grab. Oh, now? She took it in both hands, trying to think of how to grip it. “Don't tell me you've forgotten how to hold a sword! And you were just holding one this morning. We have our work cut out for us…” 

She blushed, “I usually just hold the sword without thinking about my grip, you know?” She began moving her hands on the sword.

“Do you mind?” Dimitri asked, reaching his hands out to over above hers. She shook her head, giving him permission to adjust her grip. His hands were not like Dedue’s at all, cold skin and bony fingers. His grip felt sad and uncertain. 

When her hands were configured correctly, he withdrew his own. “Let's see what happens now that you've shown me the proper way to handle it,” Mercedes said and took a step, swinging. Okay, that felt pretty good. She swung again. Her grip slipped a little bit, but she thought it would be fine. She smiled at the prince, “I was nervous at first, but just look at me now,” she tried a bigger swing and to her dismay, the sword slipped straight from her grip, sailing through the air straight towards her tutor. Dimitri stepped out of the way with time to spare, but Mercedes was mortified with herself.

“Well, I didn't realize offering to help you would mean risking my life,” the prince said, humor in his tone as he stepped towards the training sword, which had splintered as it hit the ground. Raphael and Caspar were looking over at them curiously.

“I-I'm so sorry!” Mercedes cried, taking a step towards him—she could feel herself beginning to babble as she did when she was embarrassed, “I don't know what happened! I just meant to swing the sword. I didn't think it would go flying like that! I'm impressed with how quickly you can dodge!” Add a compliment in for extra measure, just in case he was upset with her.

“I know you didn't intend to murder me,” he said with a smile, putting a hand up to appease her, “though that scare likely took years off my life…”

Mercedes frowned, feeling shameful. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this whole sword fighting thing,” she admitted, hanging her head.

“It's far too early to give up. The first time I picked up a sword, I was much like you. It's true that different people are better suited to different things, but if you keep at it and refuse to give up, you're certain to improve,” Dimitri had a determined look in his eye as he tried to convince Mercedes not to give up on learning a skill she had no interest in in the first place.

“Do you really think so?” She asked, and he nodded sincerely. He was a kind boy. “Thank you, Your highness. It's very kind of you to—“ 

“Just Dimitri will do,” the prince cut her off.

“Dimitri, then,” she smiled at him and he smiled back. She let her eyes drift down to his uniform where she noticed that—“oh! There's a rip in your cuff, Dimitri. How do you think—”

Dimitri waved her off, hiding the ripped sleeve behind his back, “Hm, it seems I didn't dodge your sword fast enough. Don't worry, I can easily repair it.”

While she was sure that Dimitri could repair the rip, she was also sure that her sewing skills were superior to his and she could repair it more easily than himself. “I'm the one who tore it, so I'll be the one who mends it. How does that sound?” She took a step towards him.

“No, no, please don't worry yourself over it.” Dimitri waved her away,“Just focus on your exam for now.” Mercedes nodded, and though she felt quite finished with being in the training grounds, she felt that she had to at least stay until after Dimitri left. And so she practiced her sword-swinging form for a while longer, her blistered hand aching, until the prince had been gone for at least thirty minutes—the sun was going down at this point.

Then, she went back to her room and promptly fell asleep.

That night, Mercedes had an Emile dream. It had been a while since she’d dreamed of her brother, and she was never quite prepared for such nights. This dream started as they all did—within the walls of the castle Bartels.

She was serving tea to some of the Bartels soldiers, as she often did when she was a child. She was probably about nine years old—at least, she felt nine years old. “Wow, Mercedes, your tea is the best,” one of the soldiers said to her, and she smiled at him out of a sense of self-preservation, wanting to run away.

“You’ll make a great wife one day,” another added, and Mercedes didn’t know what to say. The soldiers at Bartels made no secret of leering at her, even when she was a child. She didn’t understand the true implications back then, but somewhere inside she felt that she should be afraid. She hid her fear with smiles.

“Come sit in uncle’s lap,” a soldier would invite her back then, and she never wanted to. This dream was no different. She felt her body moving towards the soldier as he patted his lap, and he reached down to lift her.

“Mercedes!” Emile would call out to her, just as the soldiers were about to touch her. This was a real life phenomenon. Emile had saved her every time. “Come play with me,” he would whine and Mercedes would run to him, not even sparing a glance at the soldiers. Emile was younger than her, but she relied on him in many ways. He would grasp her hand tightly as he glared at the soldiers, leading her away. 

Tonight, though, the soldier grabbed her wrist as she tried to run for her brother. “Emile!” She said, panic in her voice. She didn’t know how to fight the soldiers—she didn’t know if she was _allowed_ to fight the soldiers. She wasn’t welcome in house Bartels, after all. She was only here because they allowed her to be.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The soldier asked in her ear, his hands on her body.

“Emile!” She said, a bit louder, looking in the direction where Emile had been standing moments before. He was gone. “Help me, Emile!” He wouldn’t come.

Mercedes’ eyes flew open. She lay sweating in her bed. It was dark outside still, probably the middle of the night. She felt disgusting, she could still feel the Bartels soldier’s hands on her body from her dream.

She picked up some clean clothes and a towel, making her way to the bathhouse. She hadn’t bathed that day, despite the long hours of sword training. She could feel a layer of grime on her skin. 

The baths were empty, as it was just before the third bell of the morning was to ring. She lit a fire in the sauna before going to the baths, where she washed off absentmindedly, soaping and rinsing herself at least four times before she began to felt truly clean. She was moving towards the sauna when she caught her eye in the mirror, and suddenly she was struck by a thought that stunned her so deeply that she dropped the towel she’d been covering herself with. 

She took a step towards the mirror, gazing into her own eyes. Her eyes then flickered to her hair. She got even closer to the mirror, her breath clouding her image of herself. That eye color…she’d looked into Jeritza’s eyes that very morning and found the color familiar. His hair, too. Now, as she looked at herself in the mirror and saw those same eyes and that same hair. A too-good-to-be-true possibility immediately came to the front of her mind.

Could Jeritza be…Emile?

Her mind was working too fast. She pulled her hair up into a loose bun and walked into the sauna. The controlled heat felt nice, compared to the intense sunlight during the long days of the Blue Sea Moon.

If Jeritza really was Emile—and the more Mercedes thought about it, he _had_ to be—why would he hide himself from Mercedes? She felt a pang of hurt in her chest. What if he had no interest in her? Had he forgotten what it was like to be together? She put her head in her hands, deep in thought.

The sound of the door opening caused her to jump, and—of course—the man standing in the entrance of the sauna was Dedue.

He was dressed in his clothes, and clearly had not arrived with the intent of sitting in the heat. “Hello, Dedue,” she said, but she was too tired and confused to smile, “what are you doing here?”

“I saw the smoke and couldn’t imagine anyone would be here this time of night,” he said truthfully.

“Well, I am,” she did attempt a small smile this time.

“I can see that.”

“Will you join me?” she implored him, and she hadn’t realized until that moment that being alone was putting her on edge. 

“I will, but you must give me a moment to change,” he responded.

“Take your time,” she said, and he was gone, leaving the door to shut behind him. Mercedes looked down at herself in her towel—the entirety of her legs were visible, as well as her upper chest and arms. Was this really appropriate? She knew that the sauna was coed, but she usually came in the hours reserved for gender segregation. After being leered at as a child by soldiers, she had come to be quite self-conscious around the opposite sex.

Her mind drifted back to Emile. Jeritza? She felt wrong about her inability to connect the two as the same person. Maybe Jertiza wasn’t Emile and just happened to look genetically similar to her. She needed to talk to the professor.

The door opened again, and there stood Dedue—a towel wrapped around his waist. Mercedes nearly fainted at the sight of his broad, defined chest, leading down into equally defined abdominals. She forced herself to look away, chastising her shameless ogling. 

He sat far from her, though not as far as he could have. “What brings you here this late?” He asked, and she sighed.

“I don’t know,” she lied. He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not buying it. “I had a dream about my brother,” she finally decided to say, “It’s been a while since I dreamed of him.” Dedue’s expression softened as she spoke. Her words apparently had some visceral effect on him. “Do you have any siblings, Dedue?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“I had a sister once,” he said, “Lillie was her name.”

“That’s a lovely name,” Mercedes said gently.

“She was a lovely girl, but she’s been gone a while now,” Dedue closed his eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. “I think you would have gotten along with her.”

“Oh?” Mercedes was flattered.

“We used to cook together, with our mom. She taught us,” he explained. Mercedes didn’t need to ask what happened to Lillie and Dedue’s mother—she knew what happened to the people of Duscur and it felt cruel to ask for specific details. “What was your brother like?” He asked.

Mercedes took a deep breath, and decided to trust Dedue. She needed to talk about her suspicions, and she had planned on pulling Annette aside for a serious conversation the next day, but Dedue was here and he seemed to want to listen to her. “He’s not dead,” she said slowly, “he’s just…I guess it’s a long story, it might bore you,” she smiled at him, giving herself a final out. She didn’t want to take up Dedue’s time with her nonsense.

“I won’t get bored,” Dedue insisted, and Mercedes looked at him—into his eyes, because to let her eyes wander over his body for any longer than she already had would be nothing short of scandalous. Such a lovely shade of green, his eyes were.

“Well, you see, I grew up in House Bartels, even though I’m of the Martriz house in name,” it had been a long time since Mercedes had told this story, “my mother married the head of House Bartels for financial security, while I was still a baby. He’s the father of my brother, which I guess only makes us half-siblings.” She glanced up at Dedue to see if he was listening, and he was still looking straight at her. She continued, “I was not…valued in House Bartels, my mother and I were only there because of her crest, and once Emile was born, we were seen as all but disposable.”

Dedue made a noise, but he didn’t say anything. He seemed to be hanging on to every word of her boring story, which embarrassed her just as much as it emboldened her to continue, “the people at Bartels were unkind to me and my mother. The soldiers openly leered at us, the maids would make us do their hard chores for them—and we were never compensated. The only person on our side was Emile.” She smiled ruefully, “he saved me from the lecherous soldiers and the bitter maids. Every time.”

“How were you separated?” Dedue asked.

“My mother and I fled, when I was ten,” Mercedes explained, “we simply could not stay. And Emile, he…refused to come with us. It hurt me, but I don’t think my mother has ever recovered. She acts fine, but she misses him so dearly.”

“Have you ever thought about searching for him?” Dedue asked, and oh maybe he was far too perceptive. Annette had never suggested looking for Emile—she knew just how cruel Bartels could be.

“The thing is, I think I may have found him,” Mercedes lowered her voice and scooted a bit closer to Dedue, not even realizing what she was doing. She gazed across the room from them, at the burning embers that kept them warm. “I think he’s Jeritza. The professor.”

“Jeritza,” Dedue repeated in his deep voice, frowning. 

“He just seemed so familiar to me,” Mercedes tried to explain, “his eyes were so eerily similar. And then, I saw myself in the mirror just now. And I swear, they’re the same eyes.”

She looked back at Dedue for a moment. His gaze was incredibly intense, “you have to confront him,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing the world.

“I don’t know,” Mercedes said sadly, looking back at the embers, “what if he doesn’t want me to? And that’s why he’s hidden his identity? We spent two hours standing across from each other today, and he didn’t mention anything.”

“You love him, right?” Dedue was pushing her her, “he’s your beloved younger sibling, right?” And Mercedes realized his intent. Dedue was imagining his sister, here at Garreg Mach. If someone who might be Lillie appeared before Dedue, he would pursue the truth at all costs. He would do anything to see his sister again.

“He might be…” Mercedes took a deep breath, “and you’re right. I need to know. If he is Emile, I need to talk to him. Thank you for talking this through with me, Dedue, I appreciate it,” she turned towards him once more, but she forgot her rule about only looking at his face. Her eyes landed on his broad neck, on the defined adam’s apple, and then down towards the dip between his collarbones. Her mouth felt dry as her eyes continued to drift down to the upper portion of his broad chest, divided down the middle by a dip between his pectorals. His bronze skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat under the dim lights of the sauna, creating a very…appetizing effect.

“I’m always happy to listen,” he said, but his words were forced, as if he were choking on them. Mercedes eyes flickered up to meet his, but he wasn’t looking at her face. It seemed his eyes, too, were wandering. She glanced down to see that her towel had fallen partially open, exposing a large portion of her left breast. If it had been any other man looking at her like this, she would have immediately covered herself, but seeing Dedue looking at her this way, she felt a rush of something unfamiliar. It was like a coiling heat, emanating from the core of her being, and spreading until it filled her completely, pushing out against her skin, forcing her to blush. She looked up at Dedue’s face again, and his eyes flickered back up to hers, an intense look of guilt in his expression.

“I appreciate hearing about your sister as well,” she continued, “I would like to know you better.”

“Likewise,” they continued to hold each other’s gaze. For Mercedes, it was because she _knew_ that if she looked away from Dedue’s eyes, she’d have no choice but to ogle his body again. He seemed to have come to a similar conclusion about her, and so they continued to engage in their strange staring contest. 

When the tension had thinned some, Mercedes turned away from Dedue, facing forward, carefully adjusting her towel as she moved. They continued to sit in silence, until the fourth bell in the morning surprised both of them. “Oh dear,” Mercedes said wistfully, “I’m afraid I must go rinse off now, if I’m going to sleep anymore tonight,” she turned her head towards him, _look at his face, look at his face, look at his face_ her brain chanted at her, trying not to think about his body in her peripheral view. “I really appreciate you spending this time with me, though.”

Dedue nodded at her, “I’ll stay here a bit longer. I hope you have pleasant dreams,” he paused for a moment, debating whether or not to say something else, “and if you do end up talking to Jeritza, I would be…interested to hear how it goes. Should you feel like divulging.”

Mercedes smiled at him, “you’ll be the first to hear,” she said, and she meant it. Then, she left the sauna, returned to the baths to rinse off her sheen of sweat, and slid into her clean clothes, feeling refreshed.

She would talk to Jeritza. She _had_ to talk to Jeritza. Her might not be Emile, but if he was and she didn’t think to ask…well, then she’d never know. She found herself thanking the goddess for Dedue’s guidance as she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is the longest chapter yet ! Part of me feels like I need to pace this fic more quickly - if one day is 5,700 words it's going to take a long time to get to the timeskip. At some point, maybe I'll start making the time move faster. I'm just really trying to get the full Mercedes at Garreg Mach experience here. Let me know what u guys think the comments hee hee


	6. Blue Sea Moon (pt. 3) - learning to dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes spends some time with Annette, gives a dance lesson, and finally gets her C support with Dedue ! All while avoiding the man who might be her brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was hard for me to write - idk i kept getting writers block and really had to push past it.
> 
> anyway, enjoy! lost of Dedue in this one :)

Ever the coward, Mercedes skipped Jertiza’s seminar the following Tuesday. She was awake and fully prepared to attend, but her nerves got the better of her. Every time she imagined Jeritza—Emile—looking indifferently at her through that mask, she felt sick to her stomach. And so, she stayed in bed until long after the tenth hour had passed and the seminar had already been dismissed.

Dimitri found her at lunch. She was sitting alone in the corner of the dining room, nibbling on the carrots of a vegetable medley that was the day’s special. She hadn’t been able to find Annette in any of her usual haunts, and so Mercedes had elected to eat by herself.

She noticed Dedue before she noticed the prince—the two were walking together. It took her a moment to process that they were walking towards her. “Hello,” she said to the pair, looking up at them serenely, as if she hadn’t skipped out on the seminar that very morning.

“Why did you skip the seminar today?” Dimitri asked, cutting the pleasantries and setting his food down across from hers as he slid onto the bench.

“I, um,” Mercedes wasn’t sure what to say. She looked over at Dedue, who probably had already guessed why she might skip, “I just wasn’t feeling up to it,” she lied.

“I must say,” Dimitri said, “you’ve improved too greatly so far to give up at this point.”

“Giving up is not my intention,” she said, feeling more than a little attacked, “I was feeling unwell this morning.”

“But you’re fine now?” Dimitri sounded dubious.

“If I may,” Dedue cut in, “why don’t the two of you train together before the next seminar? His highness can fill you in on what you missed,” Mercedes wanted to reach across the table and embrace Dedue in her gratitude. Instead, she looked at him, trying to impart that feeling in her gaze.

She hoped that it reached him.

“I supposed I could do that,” Dimitri said, albeit a bit begrudgingly, “I would be happy to train with you again, Mercedes. Just say the time.”

“How about tomorrow afternoon?” Mercedes asked. Her Wednesdays were generally free—she had classes on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. She liked to schedule study sessions and training on her off day. 

“The training grounds at half past the second bell,” Dimitri suggested a time, though he said it more as a statement than a suggestion. 

Mercedes nodded then, ducking her head to stuff the last few bites of food in her mouth. Then, she excused herself from the two boys and made her way back to her room to work on Annette’s dress, which she had been severely neglecting. She was almost finished withe bodice, and in the face of the rows upon rows of tiny stitches that she had to sew, the hours melted away. 

The next thing she knew, Annette was knocking on her door—there to see if she wanted to walk to dinner together. “Oh my goodness!” Her redheaded friend exclaimed at the sight of the partially-composed garment in Mercedes’ hand, “is that what I think it is?”

Mercedes smiled at Annette’s excitement, “it is, but it’s nowhere near ready.”

“It looks so pretty so far!” Annette reached out to touch the fabric, “and it’s so soft! You’re the best, Mercie.”

“Don’t say that till it’s finished,” Mercedes said, blushing, “do you know what dinner is tonight?” She put down her project on her desk and went to follow Annette. 

“Fish stew, fish stew, delicious stew for me and you~” Annette sang, doing a little twirl

Mercedes smiled, doing her own small dance to the tune that Annette had set, “how delightful,” she said. 

It was rush hour in the dining room, and there wasn’t an empty table. As such, she and Annette found themselves nestled into the corner of a table shared with Ignatz, Raphael, and Leonie, who were all laughing loudly together.

“I heard from Manuela that for St Cethleann’s day, there’s going to be a festival on monastery grounds,” Annette said, practically vibrating with excited energy. Mercedes wondered absently how this would be possible with the increased security around campus.

“That certainly sounds like something to look forward to,” Mercedes thought about the last time she’d attended a festival—it was after she and her mother had defected to Faerghus, but before King Lambert’s death. She had been much younger then, lost in her mother’s skirts.

“There’s going to be music and wine and everything, I’m so excited,” Annette spared an exaggerated glance at Mercedes, “maybe it will cheer you up.”

Mercedes’ smile faltered, “what do you mean?” She glanced around the room, suddenly self-conscious, feeling like everyone was watching her. No one was—even the golden deer students at the table with them were still laughing about something.

Annette was frowning now, “Mercie, I notice more thank you think. It would be fine if you just weren’t hanging out with me, but…I haven’t seen you anywhere,” Annette’s eyes were clear and concerned and Mercedes felt a bit guilty, “I wish you would talk to me more when things bother you.”

“I’m sorry, Annie,” Mercedes said, because she _was_ sorry, but she fumbled for more words to truly explain her feelings, “It’s true that I was feeling down for a few days, but I’ve been focusing on sword training, and I know that Ashe has been relying on your presence to brighten his days, so I didn’t want to impose…”

At the mention of Ashe, Annette’s face lit up. Mercedes noted this reaction with a cocked eyebrow, an amused smile on her face. “It’s not what you think!” Annette said quickly, then, “I mean—what _do_ you think?” Mercedes’ eyes fell upon Ashe, who was sitting across the dining hall from them, accompanied by Ingrid and Marianne. Annette partially turned her head to follow Mercedes’ gaze, and then blushed even more, if possible. “Oh, nevermind,” the girl said with a blush

“Oh, Annie,” Mercedes felt guilty for teasing Annette, “let’s go hang out somewhere else, hmm?”

And, as usual, they wound up in the kitchens. Mercedes decided to bake a citrus tart today, using the juice of lemons, yuzus, and limes. Annette was thrilled—it was a recipe Mercedes had never made for her before.

“So tell me about you and Ashe,” Mercedes prompted was she mixed the ingredients for the crust.

Annette sighed, “well not much is really up,” Annette admitted, “but we sometimes have these moments, where I’m not sure if he might like me or something.”

“Do you like him?” Mercedes asked, her mind flickering to Dedue. The look in his eyes when she’d baked him cookies, the way he so carefully and gently held her hand, the way he’d been looking at her in the sauna… those moments pointed towards a dizzying conclusion.

“Of _course_ I like him, what’s not to like?” Annette was practically fuming with affection for the silver-haired boy, “he’s so sweet, and such a great listener. He doesn’t mind when I talk about silly things, and he gives insight when I’m troubled…” Annette had a faraway look in her eye, and Mercedes found herself commiserating with her friend.

“It sounds like you need to talk to him,” Mercedes said, “about your feelings.”

“Easier said than done!” Annette said, throwing an accusatory glance in Mercedes’ direction, “I mean—have you ever thought about telling someone something like that? It’s _horrible_ , Mercie!”

Mercedes tried to imagine telling Dedue how she felt about him. She imagined looking into his eyes and saying the words out loud. She would tell him something like: _“I think that you are someone who could be very dear to me”_ , or _”I’ve never met a man as captivating as you,”_ or _”I need you to hold me and never let go”_. She almost blushed at the thought, a flood of shame and embarrassment filling her. What if she were to look at Dedue, say something like that, and not have her feelings reciprocated? “I see your point,” she said evenly to Annette, putting the crust in the oven and beginning to crack eggs for the tart filling. 

“And then there’s the business with Lonato,” Annette continued, “Ashe is so broken up about losing him that I would feel vile if I were to make a move on him while he’s so fragile. Being there for him as a friend seems like the right thing to do right now…”

“Well then, be there for him as a friend,” Mercedes said, pulling out the sugar, “there’s no rush, he’ll be ready one day and if you like him so much, waiting shouldn’t be that bad.”

“You’re right,” Annette said, then smiled warmly, “I’ve missed talking to you, Mercie, I feel like I’m going crazy without you.”

Mercedes was reaching for her citruses, grating zest into her egg and sugar mixture, “I’ve missed you as well, Annie,” she said, because it was true. Even when she was reclusively trapped in her room, she did occasionally wish that Annette could hang out with her without being bored, “there’s been a lot on my mind recently, and I’ve been unfair to everyone because of it.”

She was slicing her citruses in half now, retrieving the crust from the oven as she juiced the fruit into the filling, stirring with a wooden spoon to evenly distribute the flavor. Annette was quiet now—an unusual occurrence for Annette—as she watched Mercedes work. Part of Mercedes was hoping that Dedue might show up to cook something, and a bigger part of her was afraid of acting strange in his presence.

It had been four days since she’d sat in the sauna with Dedue, and she was unsure what to do with the feelings that had been ruminating within her ever since. Everything in her head swirled around one question: _what do I want from Dedue?_ , but the harder she tried to consider this question, the more stumped she was. What if she wanted too much from him? What if she was too greedy and she needed more than he had to give? She’d never wanted love from another person the way she thought she may want it from Dedue—she’d been given it freely by her mother and brother in her childhood.

Annette left her with her thoughts, humming a silly and comforting Annette song, which went something like: “ _Mercie’s pie, it’s as delicious as the stars in the sky, I swear I’d never tell a lie,_ ” having a song being sung about her made Mercedes giggle, as she poured the filling into the crust and put it all back in the oven. 

“So, have you read any good books recently?” Annette asked as Mercedes closed the oven door, and Mercedes nodded, turning to tell her friend about the books she’d been reading. At the royal academy of sorcery, Mercedes and Annette used to peruse the stacks in the library together, each pulling books to recommend to the other—that was how they’d really become friends in the first place.

When the tart was ready, they stood beside it, Annette staring at it intently. “It’s not going to cool off any faster from you staring at it, you know,” Mercedes told her, and Annette shrugged, “it’s not going to make it any slower either,” was her response, brow furrowed as she gazed at the pie.

They lazed around in the kitchen as they waited for the pie to cool—a few other students were working on cooking projects, but no large Duscur man ever appeared, which was probably best for Mercedes because Annette would be able to read her feelings like a book if he were there.

“Mercedes,” Annette said seriously as she took a bite of the tart—her serious punctuated by her use of Mercedes’ real name rather than the nickname Mercie— “how are you always outdoing yourself? This is so delicious!”

Mercedes blushed at the compliment, “well I do it all for the people,” she joked, and it was true. Her favorite part about baking sweets was watching people enjoy them. She and Annette brought the pie to her dorm room and Annette hung out on her bed while she sat at the desk, continuing her work on the dress she’d started. Annette was practically buzzing with excitement over the dress, but she ended up sitting on the bed and reading a book that had been lying around.

At the ninth bell of the evening, Annette took one more slice of the tart and excused herself, going to wash up before bed. Mercedes worked for another hour and a half until her eyes were beginning to cross from focusing on such tiny stitches, and so she set the dress aside and got dressed in her loungewear, sneaking towards the training grounds.

The training grounds never officially closed for the night, but was usually abandoned between nine in the evening and six in the morning. Mercedes thought she could get a few good swings in with the sword before her training session with the prince the following afternoon.

As she approached the grounds, it became clear to her that they were not deserted. She could hear footsteps, as well as the clatter of wooden dummies being hit. She wondered who was there—Felix? or maybe Raphael or Leonie?

To Mercedes’ delight—and chagrin—Dedue was standing in the training grounds, aiming hand axes at the wooden dummies. Mercedes stood in the entrance for a moment, watching him.

He was in his loungewear, the thin straps showing his large arms—Mercedes could see the muscles therein rippling as he moved around. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, creating a similar effect to in the sauna the other night— _no, don’t think about that,_ she chastised herself. Before he could notice her standing there staring at her, she moved towards the rack of training swords. 

She could feel the moment that he noticed her, because he went still. “Hello, Dedue,” she said, turning to him with a smile, “here for some late night training?” He nodded at her, his chest heaving to catch his breath. “I don’t mean to interrupt you or anything,” she continued, “I’m just going to swing this sword a bit,” she gestured to the wooden sword in her hand, feeling awkward.

Dedue just nodded again, and so she approached a dummy, beginning to hack at it with neither the speed nor precision nor technique that Felix was capable of.

Before she had time to realize that Dedue was beside her, he spoke: “did you skip the sword seminar today because you were scared?” Mercedes paused, her sword in mid-air.

“Yes,” she breathed, “I’m reluctant to admit that I happen to be a bit of a coward.”

“There’s a difference between fear and cowardice,” Dedue said sagely, a training axe still loosely gripped in his hand. “It is a fear if you intend to face it, and cowardice if you intend to run away. The timeline matters not, just your intent.”

“I _am_ going to confront him. I just need time. I—why hasn’t he said anything to me?” The idea that Jeritza could be Emile haunted Mercedes, but not nearly as intensely as the idea that _if_ Jeritza _was_ Emile, why did he not care to approach her? “If it really is him…why doesn’t he care?”

“Things are not always what they seem. He may be afraid as well.”

Mercedes wanted to hug Dedue, for all of his gentleness. Instead, afraid that she might scare him off, she asked: “would you like to spar with me, Dedue?”

He made a strange face, as if he did _not_ want to spar with her. Mercedes felt a bit crestfallen, and it must have showed in her face. “I’ll spar with you,” he said slowly, “but I’m afraid that my axe skills are a bit defter than yours with the sword—I would not wish to inadvertently injure you.”

“I’m a bit tougher than I look,” Mercedes told him, though that statement was mostly a bluff. She knew herself to be much softer than she was tough. Dedue, too, didn’t seem to believe her, but he moved to trade his wooden hand axe for a regular sized wooden axe. 

They circled each other slowly—Dedue seemed reluctant to move first, and Mercedes was nervous. When she finally did swing at him, he blocked it easily. She tried to use the momentum of his deflection to aim a second swing, but he blocked her once more, the butt of his axe easily knocking the sword out of her hands.

She giggled nervously as she picked it up, and they once more took up their sparring positions. Dedue was looking at her with an eyebrow raised, concern apparent in his gaze as he followed her movements.

She swung for him again, and he blocked her again. The dull thud of wooden sword against wooden axe echoed around the otherwise empty training grounds. She continued to swing at him and he continued to block and evade, never taking a swing back at her. It felt a bit like dancing.

As she had the thought, Dedue knocked her sword out of her hands once more. As it clattered to the floor, she didn’t stoop to retrieve it, a new idea creeping in at the corners of her mind. “You’re quite graceful, you know,” she said innocently, gazing up at him. 

His eyes flickered away from hers, down to the axe still grasped in his right hand. “That’s not a word anyone’s ever used to describe me,” he said with a dry chuckle.

Mercedes needed him to look at her. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his non-sword hand with hers. She ran her fingers along the back of his hand, drawing soft patterns with her fingertips. This got his attention. He looked back up at her, his face forming an expression that she had once thought looked strange on him, but was slowly coming to recognize. It was the same face he always made when their hands were touching, an unreadable maelstrom of unfamiliar thoughts and emotions. “It’s true, though,” she said, “in fact, I’m sure you’d make a great dancer.”

“I”m not so sure about that,” Dedue said carefully, a small frown on his lips, “but if you had the intention of trying to teach me, I would endeavor to learn,” he looked at her through his lashes and she had read enough books to know what flirting was supposed to feel like. Just the idea of Dedue flirting with her made her heart beat a bit faster.

Suddenly, so close to the goal she had been circling, Mercedes felt her self-doubt start to grow. What if she were to try to teach Dedue and fail? What if he couldn’t dance? What if _she_ couldn’t dance? What if they were incompatible?

“Oh, I’m not a graceful dancer, I wouldn’t make a good teacher,” Mercedes admitted, though her fingers were curling around his hand, gripping the back of it in her smaller grasp. Dedue pulled his hand away and for a moment, Mercedes was afraid that she’d scared him off. Then, he turned fully towards her and he was reaching for her left hand with his right, and for her right hand with his left. As he held both of her hands, Mercedes blushed. She looked down at their legs, both bare beneath their shorts. She looked up at him and he was exerting silent pressure in her direction.

It took Mercedes one extra glance at their connected hands to decide that she would rather die than have Dedue let go of her in that moment. So, she gently guided his right hand to her waist, rested it there, then placed her hand on his shoulder. He was looking at her with wide eyes, as if he wasn’t sure if it was okay to be touching her. “This is the, um, regular dancing position,” she said, “I’m no expert, I mean, but I think it feels right.”

“It does,” Dedue agreed, encouraging her to continue. She could feel his fingers on her waist, the individual indents of each digit against the soft fabric of her lounge shirt. 

“And so,” Mercedes was having a hard time clearing her head, “for this next part, you have to pretend there’s music. And usually the man leads, but I’m going to help you with it,” she glanced up at him, and his face was much closer to hers than it usually was. She tried to ignore the intense feeling in her chest, “this is the easiest step I know—it’s called a box step. And you just have to do what I do, but like a mirror, so we’re moving the same way,” She began to step, slowly, letting Dedue follow her lead. His hand was still on her waist, and hers on his shoulder. It would be quite easy to pull him closer, to lean into him. She didn’t allow that thought to progress, instead continuing to step.

As she continued the repetitive box step, Dedue slowly fell into the rhythm of it alongside her, to the point where she was no longer leading and they were just moving together. Mercedes kept her eyes on their hands at first, his enveloping her own in its grasp. Then, she looked at Dedue’s face. He was looking down at their feet, still not completely confident in his ability to do the dance by heart. He really was quite handsome, with his angled features and prominent brow. She liked looking at him. 

Dedue looked up from his feet for the first time and as their eyes met, he gave her a teeth-baring grin, the second that she’d ever seen from him—the first being when she had made him cookies. It made her heart catch in her throat as she couldn’t help but grin back at him. They continued dancing as they smiled together.

“I knew you would be good at this,” she said.

“I could not have flourished without my teacher,” her replied warmly, and maybe she could pull him a _little_ bit closer, right? That wouldn’t hurt anything… in fact, as she tightened her grip on his shoulder, she could feel his hand sliding from her waist to her back, almost as if he were about to pull him flush against her.

Instead, she let go of his shoulder, stepping away from him. He faltered for a moment, confused by her action. She lifted their hands that were still connected, forming an arch, “now you spin,” she told him, “under where our hands are.”

Dedue’s face was flushed, “I have not witnessed many dances, but I was of the belief that the woman usually does the spin.”

Mercedes smiled at him, nodding to their hands insistently. She wanted him to do the spin. He gave her a small smile in return and spun. She used the momentum at the end of his spin to pull him back towards her, and he seemed to understand what she was doing, because as she caught him by the shoulder, his hand found her waist again and they were doing the regular dancing step again.

“This…is not unpleasant,” he told her, and she found the flush across his cheeks quite attractive. 

“If you’re feeling more confident, you can lead,” Mercedes encouraged him, beginning to hum a catchy hymn that she remembered from her childhood. 

“How do I lead?”

She paused in her humming, “just move how you feel,” she tried to tell him. She’d only danced with her mother and brother before, in a very different time of her life. She took a deep breath and continued to hum. At first, they were moving the same way as before, but slowly, Dedue began to move them, his grip warm and tight on her waist. 

He experimentally took a larger step, pulling her along with him. She moved in time with him. He took another large step, and she still followed. Then, he seemed to understand the point of dancing like this, and his technique became much looser. She hummed as they danced across the training grounds, their steps seeming to crescendo to the point where he let go of her, arching their arms as she had done for him earlier.

With a smile, she spun under their connected hands, and when he pulled her back to him, they were no longer at an arms length, but pressed chest-to-chest. She softened against him. For a moment, his step faltered—it seemed he had not intended to pull her this close. But as neither of them objected, they continued to move.

They danced until the midnight bells rang, at which point Dedue reluctantly pulled back from her, his eyes shining bright under the torches lining the walls of the training grounds. They stood breathlessly for a moment, hands still connected, trying to digest what had just transpired.

“I appreciate the lesson,” he said in a low voice.

“I can teach you again sometime,” she responded breathily, and when their eyes connected again, she was overcome with an intense feeling that they were sharing the same emotions for each other. “I don’t really know much, though,” she admitted, “my mother actually taught me to dance when I was quite little, so I’ve only really ever danced with her before, I only know a couple of steps.” She looked up at Dedue, not sure what she wanted him to say. 

“I would learn from you until you have nothing left to teach,” he said quite seriously, and Mercedes felt lightheaded.

“I have something for you,” she said quickly, remember the tart on her desk, “I baked a tart earlier, and I’d like for you to have a slice…if you’re in the mood for something sweet, that is.”

Dedue nodded wordlessly at her and Mercedes spared a glance at the training ground behind her as they left. She’d never seen these grounds as a romantic place, but now she felt she’d never see them the same way again. After all, this was the place where she’d first danced with Dedue. 

He followed her silently back to her room, the pleasant heat of the summer night surrounding them with a serene atmosphere. He wanted politely just outside her door, as she ran in to cut him a piece. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have any utensils,” she apologized as she handed it to him, “you’ll have to use your fingers, I’m afraid.”

Dedue didn’t seem to have any qualms about pinching a piece of the pie between two of his fingers and lifting it to his mouth. He nodded at the taste, grabbing another pinch to follow up the first. In about ten minutes, he was finishing the slice, a small smile on his face as he sucked his fingers clean. “Your sweets are delicious as usual,” he informed her with a nod, “perhaps in the near future, I can prepare food for you again as well.”

“I would love that,” Mercedes said seriously, “whenever you feel like it, I love your cooking,” he already knew that she thought he was a great cook, but she wanted to tell him again. 

“Well,” Dedue said slowly, “I should go.”

Mercedes wanted to reach out and hold his hand again. She wanted to dance with him again. She wanted to take him into her room and into her bed and spend all of eternity there with him. Instead, she said: “yes, I’ll see you another time,” with a smile, and went to go back into her room.

“Mercedes,” he called after her quietly and she looked over her shoulder, “I enjoyed dancing with you,” he said, a faint blush fanning across his cheeks and ears.

“I enjoyed it as well, Dedue,” she said with a smile, and shut the door of her room between them. 

She did not dream that night. Her sleep came to her like a pleasant void, drawing to a close when she blinked in the morning light that filtered through her thin curtains. The first thought in her head was a question: she was wondering if dancing with Dedue had been a dream. Had he really held her and spun her and moved with her around the training grounds like that? The scene felt too good to be true, easily something she could have conjured in the back of her mind.

She decided that she _did_ , in fact, dance with Dedue in the training grounds the previous night. If she hadn’t, there’s no way she would feel this light and airy and unstoppable. She had a special skip to her step as she made her way to the Cathedral.

Some days, she was at a loss when faced with the goddess. Today, she had a lot on her mind. First, she prayed for everyone’s continued safety—after all, everyone was a bit on edge with the assassination plot that the professor had discovered against Archbishop Rhea. She prayed for each and every one of her classmates, picturing their faces as she imparted to the goddess and the universe that she hoped no ill would befall her comrades.

Next, she prayed that she would be able to be a better friend to Annette. She’d taken her younger redheaded friend for granted recently, and felt guilty about that. Annette was, after all, the best friend she’d ever had.

She prayed for her mother, and for the courage to face Jeritza and ask him the question that lingered in the back of her mind from day to day. She resolved herself to go to his seminar on Friday, to corner him after it, to say her piece. Maybe it wasn’t what she thought, but she had an extremely strong feeling that she was right. She knew her little brother. She knew his eyes. It had to be him.

Her mind then drifted to Dedue, and she prayed that he would dance with her again. She didn’t dare venture any further with her speculative prayers about him.

She prayed that the food would be tasty in the dining room that day, that she would have a run-in with the lovely spotted dog that sometimes followed her around by the docks, and that the late autumn greenhouse flowers would bloom soon. She prayed that her bonds with her classmates would continue to increase and that Garreg Mach would continue to feel like the home that it was becoming.

“Mercedes,” the sound of her name caused her to jump, not that she wasn’t delighted to hear Dedue’s voice calling out to her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in the Cathedral before.

“Oh, Dedue,” she smiled at him. He had to be here in search of her specifically, and the idea of him seeking her out specifically made her heart throb a bit. “Was there something you needed?”

“His Highness sent me to collect you,” Dedue said, looking down at her, his face stony. She wondered what he was thinking, but even his eyes betrayed nothing. He simply appeared to be…looking at her.

“I see,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice, “I’ll be with you in just a moment. I’m almost finished here.”

“You were praying,” Dedue said, and Mercedes could see a small shift in his demeanor. There was a glint in his eye that she’d seen there before: curiosity.

“I was,” she smiled, “praying for everyone’s safety. And praying for good desserts tonight, and that the greenhouse flowers will bloom,” she left out some of her more personal prayers.

Dedue looked confused, “The Fodlan goddess will accept prayers of any sort,” he mused, leaning against the pew she had been sitting in.

“It’s true, I’ve thought the same thing myself,” Mercedes paused, milling over Dedue’s words. _The Fodlan goddess,_ he had said. So did people in Duscur have a different deity? “That reminds me, Dedue. Weren’t you born in Duscur?” She asked it curiously, looking up at him with big eyes.

Dedue’s eyes darkened, a strange wall going up between the two of them, erected in his mind. “Yes,” he said simply.

“Do the people of Duscur pray to the goddess too?” Mercedes asked. She’d always had fantasies of foreign lands, though they had been so abstract to her—mostly concocted for fantasy novels. Now, she had a chance to learn of a real life culture that was different from her own.

Dedue had a strange expression in his eye—almost as if he was confused. “Duscur had a very different view of religion,” he explained carefully.

“Oh?” Mercedes leaned towards him, imploring him to continue.

“In Duscur, there were many gods. The sky had a god. The earth had a god. We made offerings to the war god for victory in battle. Held feasts for the sea god to calm the waves.”

How fascinating! “So your people prayed to different gods depending on what they needed?” Mercedes asked, just to make sure she understood the gist of it.

“Correct,” Dedue said, his voice once more unreadable.

“Your beliefs sound so different from ours! Tell me more,” Mercedes felt greedy asking, but it was so interesting! Spirituality was an important aspect of Mercedes’ life, and she felt an immense urge to know more about how it pertained to Dedue. Knowing his spirituality would certainly on some level help her to know him on a deeper level.

“Why?” He asked quietly, looking down at his hands, “Duscur is a ruin.”

Mercedes frowned, reaching for his hand where it gripped the pew without thinking about it. She only held onto him for a moment as she said, “Duscur may be gone, but you’re still here,” she looked up at Dedue, and he looked down at her. After a moment of severe intensity, she pulled away, “would you tell me more about it soon?”

“If you insist,” he said darkly.

Mercedes smiled at him, standing up, brushing off her skirt. “Really? That would be great! I’m looking forward to hearing more soon. You said His Highness was looking for me?” 

Dedue nodded at her, his lips forming the small words: “at training grounds,” and Mercedes found her cheeks heating up at the mention of the training grounds. Dedue apparently was having the same reaction, because he had a faint blush on his cheeks as well. 

Mercedes nodded her thanks and left him there, wondering what Dimitri needed from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)<3


	7. Blue Sea Moon (pt. 4) - a cup of tea and a morning of prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes once again fails to corner Jeritza, and goes to Dedue's room for a cup of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the joke is totally on me here because this was definitely supposed to be the St. Cethleann Day chapter and then it was actually 5,000 words of not that. Next time, the festival.
> 
> also @/tomaarrie on twitter made this art of Mercedes and Dedue dancing from the last chapter and it brought tears to my eyes so check it out! twitter.com/tomaarrie/status/1354570539122237444

Friday was the day before St. Cethleann’s day, and Mercedes woke with a distinct purpose. It was, after all, the day she was to confront Jeritza after his seminar. She got dressed and made her way over to the training grounds with intent in every step.

Today, she was the last to arrive, and class begun upon her arrival. Mercedes’ eyes searched for Dimitri’s as they split into pairs—he had trained with her earlier in the week, after all—but he was already pairing off with Marianne, and so Mercedes instead looked to Felix. “You weren’t here on Tuesday,” he said to her, “I hope you’ve been training.”

“I have,” she responded with a pleasant smile. They had moved on to sparring drills, and so now both members of each pair held a sword. Mercedes found herself quite intimidated at the sight of Felix’s calculating gaze on the other side of a blade—albeit a wooden one.

Mercedes felt hopeless with the sword—sparring with Felix was very similar to sparring with Dimitri which was very similar to sparring with Dedue. All three refused to land a hit on her, whilst dodging all of her attacks with ease. 

She found herself growing frustrated as Felix disarmed her for the fourth time in a row. She gritted her teeth, glaring down at the sword that had clattered from her hands to the floor. “Are you alright?” Felix asked as she stooped to retrieve the weapon.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said with a small smile, “I’m just having a bit of a hard time with this.”

“Do you have a specific problem?” Now Jeritza was standing beside the two of them, looking down at Mercedes through his mask.

Mercedes sighed, “I think…that I could benefit from an additional lesson with you, professor,” she said, addressing her teacher—maybe her brother. 

Jeritza’s face betrayed nothing. “I’m sure Felix would be willing to tutor you,” he said coldly, his eyes flickering towards the Fraldarius boy, who nodded. Mercedes frowned—there wasn’t really much she could say to that. “You have two problems,” Jeritza continued, turning back to Mercedes, “you lack spacial awareness and your breathing is uneven. If you can sense the world around you, it will help you with not only swordsmanship, but all battle techniques.”

“Thank you, professor,” Mercedes said, her voice small, and Jeritza stalked away from her and Felix.

“Okay,” Felix said, clearly trying to help her, “I think you should work on your breath control first. Just breathe deeply like when we were throwing the pellets. Try to feel it all over.”

It was difficult, Mercedes was finding, to remember to breathe while sparring with a weapon. As she got incrementally better at swinging a sword, her bouts with Felix were dragging out to lengths of at least ten seconds before Felix managed to disarm her—which was impressive compared to her earlier statistics.

Even though Jeritza had stiffed her attempt to schedule something in private with him, Mercedes was still fully prepared to speak to him after class—he usually hung around the training grounds for a while, after all. Today, though, he disappeared just as the tenth bell called their session to an end. By the time Mercedes had a chance to look around for him, he was gone.

Mercedes felt acutely frustrated as she met back up with Annette to walk around the courtyards near the Cathedral before their lecture with Manuela.

“Oh, I’m so excited,” Annette exclaimed as they peered at the makeshift outdoor kitchen that was being erected for the holiday, as well as the extra seating scattered around. To one side of the Cathedral, a spot that was clearly reserved for a band to play was surrounded by a larger area intended to be a dance floor. “What are you going to wear?”

Mercedes shrugged. In reality, she didn’t own many clothes. She did have one dress that looked sort of nice. It was blue and white striped, with a wide neckline, trumpet sleeves, and a swishy skirt that fell around her knees. “The striped dress,” she responded and Annette groaned out loud.

“Mercie, you’ve worn the striped dress to every event you’ve gone to in the last three years,” Annette said, and it wasn’t an exaggeration. The striped dress _was_ Mercedes’ go-to.

“It looks good on me,” Mercedes shrugged, “and I like it enough that it would seem like a waste just to to buy an additional dress.”

Annette sighed, “you’re too frugal, Mercie.”

Mercedes laughed, “Oh?”

“You deserve nice things.”

“My striped dress is a nice thing,” Mercedes smiled, “it already has so much sentimental value—I can’t imagine wearing any other dress.”

They strolled through the inside of the Cathedral, though they didn’t stop to pray. Even though the assassination note had mentioned the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth, everyone in the church was on edge—several of the clergy seemed to think that this plan was just a cover for a plan to assassinate the archbishop at the St. Cethleann celebration. As such, the knights were even more vigilant than usual, stationed all over the monastery.

“Have you ever been to a Saint Cethleann day festival before, Mercie?” Annette asked, and Mercedes shook her head. Such events happened in Faerghus, of course, but Mercedes’ mother was never a big fan of festivals. Even though they lived in a church, they would spend the festivals cooking in the back rooms. “You’re going to love it,” Annette promised.

Manuela’s lecture was painstaking as usual. Mercedes somehow produced eleven pages of notes in two hours, having a harder time than usual filtering through the professor’s word-laden lesson. She had notes about tricks to casting fire spells, as well as notes about Manuela’s ex-boyfriend who happened to be a user of fire magic.

The kitchens were closed to students as the monastery staff needed to prepare for the festival—Mercedes and Annette found this out the hard way as they arrived to bake rolls in the late afternoon. Annette was particularly crestfallen. “I wanted your rolls,” the redheaded girl wailed, fake-crying, “what are we going to do now?”

Mercedes shrugged. She honestly didn’t have any ideas for what they could do. She was usually content to bake while Annette watched. With that dream crushed, they walked towards the common rooms, to aimlessly chat with whomever was around.

They ended up hanging out with Sylvain and Lysithea—both of whom were better friends with Annette than Mercedes. Mercedes just smiled and nodded at them, not offering much of her own input to the conversation. Her head was feeling a bit cloudy anyway, so she daydreamed as the four of them sat out in the courtyard together.

She was disappointed in herself for not cornering Jeritza that morning, but there wasn’t much more she could have done. She had tried to request a private lesson with him to no avail, and he’d simply disappeared after class. The worst part was the pulsating feeling of relief in her chest when she realized he’d left before she had a chance to face him.

She was such a coward. She took a deep breath, trying to remember what Dedue had said about cowardice. _“It is a fear if you intend to face it, and cowardice if you intend to run away,”_ the words echoed in her mind in his voice, and they made her want to see Dedue and talk to him. She wanted it so badly, in fact, that without thinking, she stood up. Three pairs of eyes followed her.

“Sorry,” she said with a blush, “I just realized that I have something to take care of, so I’ll see you guys at the festival tomorrow,” she smiled at them and began to walk, slowly but with purpose, towards the greenhouse. She would have checked the kitchens first, but she already knew that no one was in there. On her way, she shot sideways glances around the monastery, looking out for Dedue’s broad shoulders.

He was working in the greenhouse, as she had predicted, with his back to the entrance. He was trimming a flowering bush, a small pile of leaves and branches on the ledge beside him. A tightness that Mercedes had never recognized before in her chest loosened as she looked upon his figure. For a moment, she watched Dedue’s back as he worked. When he moved at the correct angle, she could see his fingers, caressing the plants as he trimmed excess leaves. He touched everything as if he might break it if he were to apply too much pressure. His fingers simply glided across the small leaves and petals, the ghost of a touch.

“Hello, Dedue,” she approached him.

“I could feel someone watching,” he informed her, “I was hoping it might be you,” he glanced sideways at her, his face still pointed a the plant in front of him. She could feel her cheeks heating up just a little bit.

“The way you tend the plants is so mesmerizing,” she said, coming up beside him and leaning forward to smell the flowers. 

Dedue nodded to the bush before him, “this one grows in Duscur,” Mercedes’ ears perked at the sound of his homeland, “we had bushes of them all around our house.”

“They’re lovely,” Mercedes said truthfully. She didn’t know much about plants, but flowers still moved her somehow. This bush was adorned with small flowers that ranged from white to pale blue in color. “How many did you have at your house?” She placed her elbow on the edge of the planter, putting her cheek down into her hand and looking up at him.

“A lot,” Dedue said, “they lined the exterior of the house, with gaps for the front and back doors. My sister used to weave these flowers into my hair,” he had a troubled look on his face, but his hands never faltered in their actions, methodically trimming away the excess foliage. Mercedes tried to picture a younger Dedue, with his sister Lillie braiding flowers into his hair in front of a house lined with these very bushes. Her chest throbbed.

Mercedes smiled sadly, “that’s a very sweet memory,” she said, because it was, and she wasn’t sure if there was much more she could say.

“It’s strange how much things can change,” Dedue said, “I was never worried back then that something horrible might happen,” he didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t need to. Mercedes was pretty sure she understood—he never feared he would lose what he had, and yet he lost it all. Now, that he was making connections again, he was afraid. 

Mercedes shifted a bit closer to him and he turned to look at her. “You don’t need to worry about us,” she said confidently, “I’ve never met a stronger bunch than our class.”

“All the same,” Dedue said lowly, “tragedy does not simply spare those with strength.”

He seemed to be in a sullen mood. “That’s true,” she agreed with a small nod, “but I think that the best thing we can do in life is appreciate what we have while we have it,” now, Dedue’s hands did stop moving, the trimming shears still loosely gripped in his left hand. He seemed quite lost in his thoughts. “I’ll leave you alone, you seem to be thinking,” she said gently, beginning to move away. 

“Wait,” he said, his voice so low that she nearly didn’t hear him. She paused. “Stay,” he said, and so she did. She leaned up against the planter and hummed a song that had been stuck in her head that day—a recurring Annette song. “Did you go to the seminar today?” Dedue asked, and the tune fell off of Mercedes’ tongue.

“I did,” she said shamefully, “but Jeritza doesn’t want to see me. When I stayed after class he’d already disappeared.”

Dedue offered a small shrug, “I’m sure you’ll be able to corner him eventually,” he said, a bit of encouragement behind his voice.

Mercedes sighed, thinking about the man walking around the monastery with her eyes and her hair, with whom she was unable to even start a conversation. “I know,” she said with a sigh, “it’s just a little bit frustrating, to be treated like I don’t exist. Maybe I’m just crazy and obsessing over someone who has no connection to me,” she put her face in her hands.

The feeling of Dedue’s hand on her shoulder almost caused her to jump, but she willed her body still. He _never_ instigated touch. Usually, in Mercedes’ memory, she was always the one to reach for him first. But now his hand rested comfortingly on the back of her shoulder, still despite her desire for him to rub small circles, the way he did with his thumb on the back of her hand.

“Would you like to drink some tea with me?” He asked, and she nodded. He carefully threw away the bits of plant he’d been trimming into a compost bin, and the two of them headed for the corner of the dining room where hot water was always ready for tea. 

“What kind of tea do you like, Dedue?” Mercedes asked him, going through the communal teabags, all mixed together in a bin on the counter. She found a bag of crescent moon tea for herself, and set it aside.

“Spicy ones,” he said helpfully, and went back for a cinnamon blend that she’d flipped past moments earlier. They poured their tea and walked to the gazebo, but all of the tables were already occupied by students who had grown anxious for the following day’s festivities. 

Mercedes was _not_ about to offer her nest. In fact, Dedue was the last person in the world that she wanted to have witness her messy room. Thankfully, Dedue offered his own dorm room and they began to walk together, back towards the dorms.

“Are you going to attend the festival tomorrow, Dedue?”

“I think his highness would not stand for it if I did not,” Dedue said ominously, “so I will be in attendance.”

“I’ve never been to a St. Cethleann celebration before, so I’m quite excited,” Mercedes said with a smile, “your presence will make it all the more special.” He didn’t say anything to that—she suspected he was unsure of what _to_ say, though anything would have done. She appreciated the mere sound of his voice.

Dedue let her into his room, and it was the exact opposite from hers. It looked as clean as the day they’d moved in—his bed was made, and not a single book was out of place. Mercedes resolved herself to never let him see the inside of her dorm, lest she die of embarrassment. “Wow, Dedue,” she said, eyes wide, “I’m impressed with how neat you keep your room.”

Dedue shrugged, and sat on the edge of his bed, leaving the desk chair for her. Suddenly, she was _extremely_ aware that they were alone in his dorm room. If he noticed the implications, he did nothing to speak of them. Instead, he sipped his tea. “When you baked me cookies, I paired them with this tea,” he told her, and their eyes met.

Whenever Mercedes’ eyes met Dedue’s, it was different from making eye contact with anyone else. It was as if her vision tunneled in on him, and suddenly it became impossible to see anything but him. When he looked away, it was like having a spell lifted off of her. Then, she remembered what he had asked. “Did they taste nice together?” She asked, leaning forward slightly, taking a sip of her tea. Dedue nodded, and it made Mercedes smile with gratitude, “next time I make them for you, I’d like to try the pairing myself.”

“Next time, you say?” He asked, clearly interested, also leaning incrementally closer to her. “When will that be?”

Mercedes giggled. “Feeling impatient?” she asked softly. She was _sure_ that they were flirting at this point.

Dedue nodded, “your cookies remind me of home.”

“Did your mother used to bake something like them?” Mercedes asked, interested, leaning in just a bit more. 

Dedue shook his head, his eyes falling to meet hers again. “She did not,” he said softly, and the next time he leaned a bit closer to her, their noses brushed against one another. Dedue still sat on the bed and her in the chair, but they were both perched on the edge of their respective seats, subconsciously leaning their faces closer and closer together.

Mercedes could feel Dedue’s breath on her lips as he hovered near her, his eyes on hers. He smelled of cinnamon tea and greenhouse musk. She wondered what she should do, searched his eyes for the answer, and only found uncertainty in his gaze. So, she decided, that if Dedue was willing to get _this_ close to her, maybe he wouldn’t mind getting a little closer. She held her breath and leaned in just a little bit more.

The gentle brush of his lips against hers sent sparks trailing from her lips to her fingertips to her core and back again. She moved one hand to rest against the side of his neck. The weight of his gold earring rested for a moment against the back of her finger, and she could feel his lips quiver beneath hers for a moment before he made the decision to kiss her back. 

As it became apparent that Dedue was not going to immediately reject her, Mercedes forgot herself for a moment, and suddenly something wet and _hot_ was spilling across her hand and lap—the cup of tea that she’d still been holding.

She pulled away from Dedue with a yelp, jumping up. He stared after her, wide-eyed, likely afraid that he’d done something wrong. Then, the teacup shattered on the floor, the rest of the tea spilling along with it. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, “I completely forgot myself, and I spilled tea all over your floor, I’m really so clumsy sometimes—”

“Mercedes,” he said quietly, also standing. He had an odd look in his eye—troubled, confused, and hopeful all at the same time. Suddenly, the tea didn’t seem so important anymore. He looked like he was about to reach for her, and then he _did_. He lifted a single hand, reaching to brush a loose bit of hair behind her ear, his touch so soft that it felt like she was being tickled by a breeze.

Without thinking, she stepped closer, leaning into his hand, craning her neck to kiss his lips again. And to her delight, he was leaning back towards her, and they were kissing once more—this time she wasn’t holding tea to spill all over herself. His mouth was soft against hers, and as she reached up to stroke the sides of his neck with both hands, he brought his own hands to rest on her waist, neither pushing nor pulling nor moving her in any way—just touching her.

Dedue’s lips were so soft and warm, they were the embodiment of the man that they were attached to. The smell, taste, and feel of him surrounded Mercedes in a sort of blissful bubble that she never wanted to step out of again. Her hand moved from the side of his neck to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. He obliged, taking a half-step towards her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tight against him.

It was in that moment that Mercedes remembered that she’d never even hugged Dedue before, and now she was standing here kissing him. It seemed he had the same thought in the same moment as her, because he moved his mouth away from hers, straightening up so that he could properly hug her. Her ear and cheek were pressed against his broad chest, his heart beating quickly against the side of her face. His heartbeat was proof that Dedue was alive, and she was close enough to feel it against her skin, and this thought touched Mercedes deeply. 

He held her tightly for what could have been anywhere between two minutes and an hour. Mercedes could feel him resting his head on top of hers, and his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. She especially heard it when he whispered her name near her left ear, the three syllables “Mer-ce-des,“ echoing in the room like the final notes of a lovely song.

“Dedue,” she murmured back, and his grip tightened just a bit.

When he let go of her, he seemed embarrassed. He stood still as she moved to sweep up the teacup shards—it was much easier to clean a broken glass in a clean room than her messy one! There would have been shards of ceramic in her piles for months.

“I apologize,” Dedue said darkly, as she was tying the shards together in an old rag that she had also used to wipe up the excess moisture, “if I am being too forward,” Mercedes looked up at him from where she was crouched around the mess she was cleaning. He was looking at something on the wall, not at her. Finally, he continued to speak: “I have never considered myself to be someone who is able to—or deserves to—find happiness in the arms of another,” Mercedes pressed her lips together, still watching him. He was gritting out his words, voice gravely with mucus in the back of his throat, “but it seems,” he stopped to clear his throat a couple of times, “that I might be able to find it with you. So the question remains…”

“Whether or not you deserve it?” Mercedes guessed, and he looked straight down at her, looking so sad. Mercedes stood, holding the wet rag full of ceramic chards in her left hand—she didn’t want to set it down and risk leaving a wet stain on any of his wooden furniture. “Everyone deserves love, Dedue,” she said softly, “you most of all.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked seriously, still looking at her, his sadness turning to intensity before her eyes.

“Because,” she didn’t plan her words out before she said them, they just sprung from her mouth, “if you abstain from being happy with me,” she shifted back and forth shyly, “that would leave both of us all alone, you know. Not just you.”

Dedue frowned a tiny frown—“another man would suit you fine,” he told her, though there were no force to his words.

“But why would I want another man when you’re here?” She was getting frustrated. She wanted him to understand. “No one has ever made me feel what I feel for you before, I’ve read about it in books but I never realized that it _actually_ hurts,” she put a hand at the center of her chest, at the place where it ached when she thought about Dedue for too long.

“It seems that I have misunderstood the situation,” Dedue said after a deep breath, “we like each other,” he said the words as a question—he liked her, and he wanted to know if she felt the same way.

“That does seem to be the situation,” she agreed, her cheeks heating up. Here it was—irrefutable proof that he liked her. He had essentially just admitted it. Of course, she’d had her suspicions through all of the kissing and hugging they’d done in the past hour, as well as their time in the sauna and at the training grounds. It was nice, however, to hear it confirmed verbally.

For a moment, Dedue looked pained. “Is being alone a sad thing for you?” He asked, and she was a bit taken aback by the question. He had an empathetic softness in his eyes that made her want to tell him everything.

“It is,” she admitted.

“Do your friends not make you happy?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

She smiled at him, “of course they make me happy. Everyone makes me happy,” she responded automatically, “the happiness just…wears off easily,” she tried to explain, “when there’s no one around—”

“There’s no reason to pretend anymore?” Dedue guessed, and Mercedes frowned. Her first instinct was to tell him that she wasn’t pretending. Because she wasn’t pretending—she did love her friends, she loved interacting with her classmates. Those things _did_ make her happy. Dedue must know that, though. Most of her smiles weren’t fake. 

“You could say that,” she relented, “I never pretend around you, though.” She thought about tacking on an _or Annie_ , but that would have been a lie. She had pretended around Annette before. 

Dedue didn’t seem to know what to say to that, but he was saved from having to answer by the sound of someone knocking on his door. “Dedue?” Dimitri’s voice asked from the other side of the door, “up for a spar?” 

Whatever strange reverie their conversation had been happening in was broken by the prince’s call. Mercedes gathered up Dedue’s un-shattered cup of half-drank cinnamon tea as he opened the door for Dimitri.

“Of course, your highness,” Dedue said, bowing his head slightly. “Mercedes and I were just finishing having tea,” he informed his liege, who eyed Mercedes suspiciously.

“Were you?” He asked, and Mercedes wondered if her cheeks were still flushed, if her skirt looked as wet as it was, if he _knew_.

“We were,” she smiled at Dimitri, “but I have some studying to do before the festival tomorrow, so I must get going,” Dimitri stepped to the side to let her pass. “I’ll see you two at the festival,” she called back to the two boys, sounding much more serene than she felt.

She couldn’t sleep that night. She could still feel Dedue—his hand on her waist, his arms around her, his breath against her lips, the way he _looked_ at her. She felt restless, turning back and forth endlessly in her bed. Part of her wanted to get up and wander the monastery, but another part of her knew that she might just be looking for Dedue. And he might be awake. She was sure she couldn’t handle seeing him in that moment, so she stayed in bed, breathing slowly, until she finally fell asleep as the sun began to rise.

She woke at the eleventh bell, her eyes going wide with embarrassment. She knew that the prayer portion of the holiday only went until two in the afternoon, and had started at eight in the morning. Thus, she had missed exactly half of it. 

As she was getting dressed, Mercedes ran into a rather embarrassing problem. That was—her chest seemed to have…grown since the last time she wore her striped dress. With her cleavage increased from nothing to a small about above the neckline, and the way that the wide neckline dipped down suddenly felt somewhat scandalous to her. Even the way it hugged her waist was strange—she didn’t have a narrow waist, instead carrying around a small tummy with her. Even the skirt felt shorter than she’d remembered it.

She tried to think of some way to amend the situation, short of wearing her school uniform. As she sifted through her piles, she found something—a lilac cardigan, her favorite cardigan from when she was a teenager. She’d recently patched in all of the moth holes, and though it looked a bit raggedy being covered in patches, she was sure it still had its original charm. It didn’t do much to hide her cleavage, but it brushed down past her knees and covered her shoulders, which would usually be bared by the neckline.

Annette was praying towards the back of the cathedral, Ashe to one side of her and an empty pew on the aisle side. Mercedes knew the spot was for her, and so she darted towards it, trying to avoid Seteth’s bitter gaze as she went. 

“Where have you been, Mercie?” Annette hissed, though there was no real bite to her voice.

“I slept in,” Mercedes said, making sure to sound more remorseful than she felt in case the goddess happened to be listening.

“Well you have three more hours to ask for forgiveness,” Annette said easily, and Mercedes looked down their pew, which was in the section reserved for those from the Blue Lions House. Though she knew that everyone would be in attendance of the celebration the afternoon and evening, only herself, Annette, Ashe, Marianne, and Dimitri sat in the pew together. 

She wondered what her mother was doing for the holiday. She’d married a new man, moved out of the church that they’d lived in for years. Mercedes wondered if her mother could be praying, thinking of _her_ safety, in that very same moment. She could see the back of Jeritza’s head, standing a ways away, with the Adrestian section of the praying crowd. She wondered if he was thinking of their mother, too.

She knew the hymns, and sang along. As a child, the hymns had been her favorite part of organized prayer. They had simply been fun little songs to her, something to sing and dance along to. As they sang the hymn she’d hummed for her dance with Dedue, she tried to think of anything but him. She didn’t want the goddess, or any of the saints for that matter, to hear what she’d been thinking about Dedue. It was too private even for the deities. She’d tell the goddess when she had a better understanding of the situation.

At the second bell in the afternoon, they were dismissed from prayer. The festival had already begun just outside of the Cathedral, sparsely populated by some students who didn’t want to pray but had heard that mead was being offered to all students over sixteen. The crowd quickly thickened with the addition of those who had been praying. 

Mercedes found herself growing quite excited for her first real festival attendance, as she and Annette stood in line for a pint of mead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ! I'm really bad at responding to comments but I do read and appreciate them all and they motivate me to write more of this fic so i just wanted to let everyone know that lol hope u enjoyed this chapter


	8. A Festival for St. Cethleann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercedes gets a little bit tipsy at the festival, but that's okay because so does everyone else.
> 
> OR: I miss drinking and dancing and partying with my friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write.

Mercedes could hardly remember seeing anything as magnificent as the monastery looked for the festival. There were pre-vetted vendors and food stalls, selling small chachkies, and snacks, and jewelry, and the like. There were also numerous candles, scattered about on the balcony ledge and mounted on the exterior walls of the monastery. Mercedes couldn’t wait till it was dark enough for the candles to be lit, because they would surely look beautiful.

Having abstained from breakfast due to her poorly planned night of sleep, Mercedes found the mead taking a quick and dramatic effect on her. Half a pint in, she was giggling more than usual. “Wow, Mercie,” Annette was teasing her, “better slow down if you’re gonna make it through the night.”

Mercedes giggled more exaggeratedly than she usually would have, but agreed with her friend. “You’re right,” she said with forced solemnity and the next sip she took of her mead was much smaller than her sips from before.

“Let’s get snacks,” Annette offered next, and that was agreeable. Mercedes had seen Annette looking at her clothes, though the girl didn’t say anything. Suddenly, Mercedes felt extremely self-conscious. If she had looked good, Annette would have complimented her. So the fact that the girl had clearly given her a once-over and then chosen not to comment meant that her clothes must not be flattering…right?

“Annette,” Mercedes said, more serious than the situation required, as they approached a booth selling fried seafood. “Does this outfit look okay?” She asked shyly as Annette glanced at her.

“Everything looks good on you, Mercie,” Annette responded, and Mercedes frowned. “You know how I feel about the striped dress, Mercie. You need something new. And I don’t think you need the cardigan either, it’s ratty and it’s hot out anyways.”

Mercedes gasped, “you think my cardigan is ratty?”

“You _don’t?_ It’s covered in patches, Mercie,” Annette had a point. As she went to order them fried crab legs, Mercedes slipped out of the cardigan, draping it over her arm. This would be fine, all she needed to do was not look down. If she couldn’t see the way that the dress hugged her so tightly, it wouldn’t bother her.

“I didn’t mean to make you take off the cardigan,” Annette said, feeling bad, as she turned back to Mercedes with two orders of fried crab legs. “Wear it if it makes you comfortable.”

Mercedes sighed, taking the crab legs in one hand and sipping from her mead which was gripped in the other. “I’m only wearing it because the striped dress,” Mercedes looked around before dropping her voice, “doesn’t really fit me anymore.”

Annette looked down at Mercedes, then made a noise of realization, “oh, you mean because your breasts have grown so much—”

“Annie, shh!” Mercedes was sure everyone had just heard that. She could feel herself heating up, the blush spreading towards her ears and down her neck in a way that it only did when she was a bit tipsy, “you don’t have to announce it like that.”

Annette giggled, “I wasn’t being loud, you’re just sensitive. And you have a great body, Mercie. Nothing to be embarrassed about, anyway.”

Mercedes considered this idea for a moment. “Maybe I’ll make myself a new dress when I finish with yours,” she mused aloud.

“I wouldn’t mind if you made yourself one first,” Annette told her.

“I already started on yours, though.”

“Suit yourself,” Annette shrugged, and the two of them sat back on a bench to eat their crab legs. After having consumed something, Mercedes felt much more able to hold her liquor, and so she finished her first pint of mead and went for another.

As she walked back from the mead stand, she saw Annette talking animatedly, surrounded by Lysithea and Ashe and Hilda. Mercedes suddenly felt shy, not wanting to impose on the small crowd, and so she began to wander the festival, half-hoping she might run into Dedue.

In the end, she found no one that she felt comfortable latching onto, and so she went back to her room to put away the patchy, ‘ratty,’ as Annette had called it, cardigan. It would get dark soon, so she wasn’t too nervous about her body being visible.

When she got back to the festival, after grabbing a fresh pint of mead, she decided to peruse the vendors’ stands. She didn’t have any money on her, but she’d never in her life had much money on her. She simply enjoyed the act of looking at the wares and talking to the vendors about them—even though the vendors would usually dismiss her as soon as they realized she had no money.

There was a kind vendor who sold lovely gemstones, set into pieces of jewelry. They talked about the stones for a while—where they came from, what they meant spiritually, et cetera. Even when the merchant discovered that Mercedes didn’t have any money to spend, he continued to chat with her amicably.

Just before sunset, the music began. There was a three-piece band, playing lively music. As soon as the sound filled the air, people began to pair off, rushing to dance with their friends and partners. Mercedes watched the mirth-filled display with a smile on her face. She wasn’t familiar with the dance that most everyone seemed to be doing, but if she observed, she would be able to learn.

She caught sight of Annette dancing with Sylvain, and the two redheads grinned at her, waving. They seemed to be doing a sillier version of the dance that everyone else as participating in.

Without thinking, she scanned the crowd for Dedue. It was already getting dark, and she hadn’t seen him yet. She thought she might see the back of his shoulder somewhere amongst the fray, but not a concrete spotting of him. She wasn’t sure she could do this dance with him, though. It was unfamiliar to both of them, so she couldn’t really teach him much. She wasn’t even sure if he would want to dance with her like this, in front of all of these people. They were both quite shy, after all.

“Mercie!” Annette bounced over to her at the end of the dance, her cheeks red. She’d clearly not gone easy on the mead since the two last saw each other. “Where have you been? I wanted you to be my first dance of the night,” Annette pouted and Mercedes giggled.

“I’m not sure I can do this dance,” Mercedes said truthfully, trying not to sound guilty.

“Pshh, it’s easy,” Annette hiked her skirt up to her knees, “like this,” the girl began to do the footwork of the dance, but slowly. Mercedes followed along. “Yes, like that, you got it, let’s dance,” Annette grabbed her wrist and pulled her out to the dance floor.

Mercedes giggled, “how many pints of mead have you had?” She asked. The dance _was_ mostly footwork. They held hands as they spun, though Mercedes only held one of Annette’s hands as she still had her pint of mead grasped in the other. After a few moments of dancing, Mercedes allowed her feet to speed up along with the tempo of the song—trying to hold her pint glass as stable as she could.

Annette shrugged, “I do feel quite tipsy,” she admitted, “which means that you need to catch up!” She nodded pointedly at Mercedes’ tanker. 

“Can’t disappoint Annie,” Mercedes said with a shrug, before knocking back the rest of her drink. 

“Good, now put the cup down so we can dance properly.”

“You’re bossy when you’re drunk,” Annette winked and stuck her tongue out. 

After three dances, Mercedes was exhausted. Annette, though, seemed to be an endless bundle of energy fueled by mead. As Mercedes made her excuses—she said she was getting more mead—Annette flitted over to where Claude appeared to be looking for a dance partner, taking his hand with a grin.

 _Drunk Annette loves to dance_ , Mercedes thought, nodding, filing away that information for later. The line for the mead was not what it had been earlier in the day—most everyone had a pleasant buzz at this point, and the alcohol was less in-demand. Mercedes joined the queue—there were three people ahead of her.

As she waited, she scanned the crowd for what felt like the thousandth time, and this time her eyes landed up on the figure that she was searching for. Dedue was sitting on a bench, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Beside him stood Dimitri, who appeared to be in the middle of the act of—oh, no—rejecting a girl. Mercedes cringed at the thought of Dedue having to sit there for that.

Dedue appeared to be searching the crowd for something, trying to focus on anything besides the rejection happening beside him. He was definitely looking for something. _What if he’s looking for me?_ Her mind shouted at her, and she fought back the urge to wave at him, to call his attention to her.

She didn’t need to wave, though, because he found her a moment later. Their eyes met, with at least thirty yards between them, and Dedue only held her gaze for a moment before looking away. As he did, though, he lifted one hand, subconsciously touching his lips with his fingers. Mercedes blushed, wondering if he was thinking about kissing her.

“It’s your turn,” the person behind her in line said helpfully and she nodded an apology before stepping up to the counter to get her mead. 

It was dark now, and the magicians meticulously were lighting every candle—Mercedes absently wondered how many hundreds of candles had been set up for the festival. They concentrated around the dance floor, illuminating everyone with a soft and gentle glow.

Mercedes glanced at the dance floor—Annette was skipping in circles with Claude, Sylvain was dancing a girl that she’d never seen before, Hilda and Caspar were hand-in-hand—Mercedes _had_ heard rumors about the two of them, and Ashe danced politely with Ingrid. There were several other pairs dancing, of course, but none of much consequence to her.

Mercedes scanned the crowd again. Dedue was listening to Dimitri talk now, their heads tilted towards each other, each boy holding a tanker of mead in his hand. Several students and clergymembers were talking to each other.

Mercedes’ eyes next fell upon the completely sullen form of Felix. He was sitting alone on a bench in the corner, his eyes dark as he looked out at the dance floor. Mercedes made her way over to him carefully, trying not to get knocked around by the array of tipsy bodies.

“Hello, Felix,” she said with a smile, sitting beside him on the bench. He grunted a response, still looking at something on the dance floor. Mercedes tried to follow his eyes, though she had an idea of why he might be feeling so sour. “Would you like to dance with me?” She asked innocently.

Felix looked at her, “do I look like I want to dance?” He asked bitterly.

“I was just thinking,” Mercedes said, taking a big sip of mead, then looking down at her nails, “that it might get Sylvain’s attention. I mean, if that’s something you were interested in.”

Felix frowned at her, “how did you know?”

Mercedes shrugged, “I’ve had my suspicions. There was also something you said when I was healing your thigh back at Gaspard—about how Sylvain’s priorities were wrong for caring about you more than the battle.”

Felix made a noise that was something between a scoff and a cough, “I don’t think that’s what I said,” he mumbled, and his ears were turning red.

“Have you had any mead yet?” Mercedes said and Felix shook his head. Of course he was in the worst mood of anyone at the festival. “Here,” Mercedes took one final, large swig from her tanker and handed it to him—it was still two-thirds full. “Finish this.”

The dark-haired boy looked down at the brown liquid, then back up at Mercedes with a quirked eyebrow. “You know this is basically poison, right?” He said.

“Don’t think about the poison, just think about the fun,” Mercedes said helpfully and with one last dubious look and a shrug, Felix tossed it back. Mercedes smiled at him serenely as he chugged.

“That was disgusting,” he said accusatorially as he finished the mead.

Mercedes’ smile never faltered. “Ready to dance?” She asked him brightly. 

“When the next song starts,” he said, clearly not wanting to draw attention to the two of them. “You’re more perceptive than I thought you were,” he told her, definitely a backhanded compliment. “You seem all ditsy and absent, but you’re actually paying attention,” Mercedes didn’t mind his harsh language—it was a fairly accurate assessment.

“I like to listen to others,” she said, “It’s fair to say that I am pretty ditsy and absent, but I try to pay attention when I need to.” 

Felix frowned as she repeated his insult back to him. “I shouldn’t have called you that,” he said, and Mercedes knew that was probably as close to an apology as he was capable of getting. 

“I forgive you,” she said gently, “it was a fairly accurate assessment.”

Felix looked like he was about to say something more, but the music lulled in that moment, the void it left instantly filled by the murmur of voices around them. Mercedes jumped off the bench and held her hand out to Felix. “Maybe I’ll lead,” she said as he took her hand. She and Felix _were_ roughly the same height, he only had a few centimeters on him.

Felix scoffed, “I’m not going to be the woman,” he said, and Mercedes shrugged. “Nothing wrong with tha-at,” she sang, in a somewhat Annette-like fashion, because she was a little tipsy and thus could not resist the innuendo.

She watched with delight as Felix’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, struggling to keep his face even, as the first notes of the next song sounded throughout the Cathedral courtyard.

It turned out, Felix was a much better dancer than Mercedes. He had clearly already known the dance that they were doing. Mercedes only loosely knew it—she knew the footwork from Annette, but not any of the choreography. 

She let Felix lead her around, though, giggling every time she took a misstep, and he seemed at times unable to suppress his own giggles. Their skill levels were just too mismatched—Mercedes was not that good, and Felix was too good. At one point, she stepped so squarely on his food, that as he tried to step away, they both fell off-balance, and would have toppled had he not stepped correctly with his opposite foot to save them. 

At this, Mercedes dissolved into giggles, resting her forehead on the swordsman’s shoulder. She could feel the smile in Felix’s voice as he patted her on the back and said, “you’re drunk.”

“I _know_ ,” Mercedes said, gasping for breath between giggles. She caught her breath and nodded at him to start dancing again. It was only a few more steps, though, before the song ended. “I forgot to look for Sylvain’s reaction,” Mercedes admitted. 

Felix shrugged, “look for him on the next dance,” he told her, and Mercedes was thrilled to basically have an admission that the Fraldarius boy had enjoyed their clumsy dance.

Mercedes nodded and looked for Sylvain. Surprisingly, he wasn’t on the dance floor. Mercedes continued to look around for him as they lined up for the next dance, and she eventually spotted him, standing at the peripheral of the dancing area, looking straight at her.

She looked away as soon as she realized. “He’s looking at us,” she informed Felix. 

“Is he?” Felix asked, a spiteful satisfaction in his voice, “what kind of face is he making?” Felix asked, spinning them in such a way that Mercedes could see the Gautier boy again. Dorothea was standing beside him, talking, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her. 

“Like he’s thinking,” Mercedes guessed, having a hard time placing his expression because she was in a bit of a drunken haze. “Dorothea’s talking to him, but he’s just watching us.”

“Dedue is watching us, too,” Felix informed her, and she would have fallen over if he was not prepared to catch her. “You’re not the only one who can notice things,” Felix said, and Mercedes would have said something back, had she not noticed that Sylvain was walking towards them with intent in his step, the crowd seeming to part to accommodate him.

“Sylvain,” Mercedes hissed, and it was all of the warning she had time to get out of her mouth before the tall redhead’s hand came to rest on Felix’s shoulder, just beside her own.

“Good evening, Mercedes,” he said with forced pleasantness.

“Good evening, Sylvain,” she responded with a wide smile that was not at all forced but perhaps a bit drunk.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have something I need to talk about with Felix.”

“Now?” Felix asked, raising an eyebrow at Sylvain.

“Yes. Now,” Sylvain said back, his smile never faltering.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” Mercedes said easily, letting go of Felix, who looked utterly betrayed. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Sylvain smiled at her, and she smiled back one more time, for extra measure, before the two boys were walking away from her. Or, more like, Sylvain was dragging Felix away by the wrist. The boy was pretending to be reluctant, but Mercedes knew that he’d been craving Sylvain’s attention all evening.

Once the two boys were gone, Mercedes wasn’t quite sure what to do standing alone in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, Annette was dancing with Ashe now, and the two of them skipped over to include her in a three-person dance.

“What was that about?” Annette asked, glancing back at Sylvain and Felix. 

Mercedes shrugged, “Sylvain needed to talk to Felix.”

“He could’ve waited till the end of the song.”

“I don’t mind.”

Mercedes held Annette’s hand in her left and Ashe’s in her right, though she felt completely like a third wheel as the two mostly were looking at each other. Mercedes glanced across the courtyard to where Dedue and Dimitri had been sitting, and was shocked to see that now Dedue sat alone, an empty glass set off to the side.. 

Without thinking, Mercedes detached herself from her two friends, and it took everything that she had to in her not to run to where Dedue sat. Instead, she went and got two more mugs of mead—one for her and one for Dedue—deciding that this would be her last of the night. She walked them over to Dedue carefully, both of her hands occupied. He didn’t seem to notice her coming, looking down at something on his lap, and so she stood directly in front of her.

“Good evening, Dedue,” she said pleasantly, reveling in the feeling of one of her favorite names rolling off of her tongue. Dedue’s eyes dragged up to meet hers, but she couldn’t help but notice the slow tilt of his head, the way his gaze seemed to absorb everything from her knees up to her face before resting on her eyes. 

“To you as well, Mercedes,” he said, taking the mead from her, and she was overtaken by an urge to crawl into his lap and kiss him deeply. _No_ , she scolded herself, instead taking the seat beside him. “Are you sure that you need that?” Dedue asked, gesturing to the mead in her hand.

Mercedes shrugged, “I _am_ quite tipsy, but I would certainly regret it if I didn’t get to share a drink with Dedue at both of our first St. Cethleann Day Festival.”

Dedue was quiet for a moment, then tilted his glass towards hers, and she clinked their cups together gleefully. “To many more,” she said warmly.

“To many more,” he agreed, not looking directly at her, as they each took a sip to the prospect of many more.

“So,” Mercedes said, turning fully towards Dedue, “are you going to dance with me?”

Dedue nodded towards the dance floor, “you seemed a bit…unstable earlier.”

Mercedes laughed, “that’s only because Felix and I are incompatible dancers.”

“Incompatible?” Dedue repeated the word, and Mercedes nodded at him solemnly.

“He knows how to dance much better than I do, but he didn’t want to slow down for me, he wanted to show off for Sy—someone. And so I was just dragged along, and I can barely do the steps.”

“I don’t even know the steps,” Dedue informed her, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think he was sulking.

“I’ll teach you!” She jumped up, placing her mead where she’d been sitting. “It’s mostly the footwork that’s hard, see,” she began to dance, doing the footwork at an exaggeratedly slow pace, then quickening incrementally. Dedue was watching her feet, nodding, but as Mercedes sped up, she noticed his eyes flickering upwards, but not quite at her face.

Then, for just a moment, Dedue’s eyes were resting on her chest, before he realized what he was doing and moved his focus back to her feet, refusing to look away from her feet. Mercedes’ cheeks, which were already flushed with drunkenness, reddened even _more_ , and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the way that her breasts bounced as she danced, and the way that the hem of her skirt swished as she moved from side to side.

“Um,” she stopped dancing, and Dedue blinked—when he closed his eyes, they were on his feet and when he opened them again, they were on her face. He didn’t want to risk seeing her breasts like that again. “Do you think you get the step?” She asked, suddenly shy and nervous.

Not long ago, she’d danced with Dedue in the training grounds, but this felt different. For one, they were out in public in the daytime—everyone would know that they were dancing together. That part didn’t necessarily bother Mercedes. She was more nervous because just one day earlier, she and Dedue had kissed in his room. And at least half of her thoughts since then had been wondering how she was going to manage to kiss him again. She simply needed to kiss him again. _Not in front of everyone, though,_ her mind snapped at her, and she nodded along with it, compelled to obey.

The current song ended, and there was a momentary lull in the music. “I think I understand,” he said in his deep voice, and he took one of Mercedes’ hands as he stood up and they stepped towards the other dancers, lining up near the edge. Dedue held her waist again now, in a way that was becoming comfortably familiar to her. 

As the next song started, for a moment, Dedue struggled with the step. Mercedes did it with him, slowly, until he seemed to understand better, and they sped up to the speed of the music.

Dancing with Felix and Annette had been a fun and silly feeling of positivity, but dancing with Dedue was electric, just as it had been in the training grounds. Dedue spun her and she laughed, doing an exaggerated spin and falling back against his chest. He was sturdy and gentle and she was drunk putty. 

One song faded into another and another, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d been dancing with Dedue. She had all but melted into him, her head resting on her shoulder, her chest pressing against his. Her step was becoming less sturdy than his, and eventually, he was leading her somewhere.

“Why’d we stop dancing?” She asked, eyes wide, as they entered that Cathedral.

“Because you need water,” he said. They were walking through the Cathedral towards the bridge, which would take them back to the rest of the monastery. Mercedes looked up at Dedue’s face and saw a grimace there. Then, she noticed that almost all of her weight was leaning on him.

“I’m sorry, am I too heavy?” She asked, shifting some of her weight away from him and immediately stumbling. 

“No, no,” he caught her easily, then shifted their positioning so that he could lift her onto his back, carrying her piggy-back style. Mercedes rested her cheek against Dedue’s shoulder, breathing against the side of his neck. “I have a headache,” he admitted, “I need water, too. And I was feeling a bit…overstimulated by the festival.”

“If you wanted water and air, you could have said,” she giggled, “and if you wanted me to come with you, I still would have.”

“I merely want water,” Dedue said, his tone a bit teasing, “you _need_ it.”

“I see your point,” Mercedes said. She was a bit dizzy. At that moment, the midnight bells began to chime. The festival would be over at two, after exactly twelve hours of partying. Mercedes was surprised and proud that she’d made it through ten.

Dedue set her down gently at a table in the dining room and went to get them both large glasses of water. Mercedes drank hers quickly and Dedue handed his to her to continue drinking as he went to refill the first cup.

“You’re so kind, Dedue,” she said as he came back. 

“You like to say that about me,” he observed.

“It’s true,” Mercedes nodded, and then—because she was drunk—she patted the bench beside her. “Come, sit,” she said, and as he sat, she moved towards him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she curled up against his side. “You’re the kindest person I know.”

Dedue made a short noise. “You needn’t compliment me like that.” 

“Don’t resist the compliments,” she said with a giggle, “they’re the best gift that I have to give.”

Dedue looked down at her, an eyebrow raised, “you’re worth much more than compliments, Mercedes,” he said, and grabbed both of their glasses to fill up with more water. She watched his back as he walked away, wishing he would turn around and face her again. He filled their cups and came back to her. She breathed a sigh of relief as his arm once more found its place around her, and she leaned into him once more.

“You’re comfortable,” she said, “and warm,” her voice was dropping, she could feel herself drifting further and further away from the monastery and the festival and Dedue’s embrace.

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” Dedue asked, and Mercedes barely managed to let out a small groan of affirmation before her consciousness dipped away from her, like waves being pulled back from the shore by the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some sylvix action in this one ! 
> 
> I actually had so much fun writing the Felix dance. And drunk Mercedes was also a lot of fun.
> 
> ALSO: I am experiencing a family emergency and will be flying around a bit in the next couple of weeks so i might not update as frequently as i have been, but i'll try in my spare time-especially since this fic is one of the only good distractions for me to focus on these days.
> 
> lmk whatever yall think in the comments ;)


	9. Blue Sea Moon (pt. 5) - a Hangover and a Battle in the Holy Mausoleum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is hungover the day after the festival. Maybe Mercedes a bit more than others.
> 
> Also, they battle a band of mages and thieves in the holy mausoleum during the goddess's rite of rebirth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth was originally going to have its own chapter, but I decided to combine it with the post-festival chapter. The final chapter of the Blue Sea Moon! Took me long enough haha this one chapter in the game has five chapters in my fic.

Mercedes woke slowly. It was early in the morning, she could tell by the angle of the light coming in through her window as she blinked her eyes open. Wait…morning? She screwed her eyes shut, trying to orient herself. Then, she noticed the headache.

 _Oh_. A hangover headache. Mercedes groaned loudly and turned over in her bed to look down at herself. She was still wearing the striped dress, which had been pulled and twisted by her fitful sleep. It was too tight, she needed to get out of it. So, she shimmied it off ungracefully, dropped it over the side of her bed, and lay naked in bed for a few minutes.

She remembered dancing with Annette, Annette being drunk, wanting to drink enough to catch up with Annette. With another long groan, Mercedes put one hand over her face. How silly she was. She had coerced Felix into dancing with her, to make Sylvain jealous—and it had worked! She wanted to find Felix, to ask him what had happened with Sylvain. Was she good enough of friends with him to ask personal questions like that? Probably not. Would she do it anyway? Most likely.

And then…she had spent time with Dedue. She was sure of it. They had danced together, then he brought her to the dining hall to drink water and sober up. Her chest swelled at the memory—proof that he cared. She had, after all, been far too drunk.

Her immediate recollection of the evening ended there. In the dining room with Dedue just after midnight drinking water. How had she gotten back to her bed? She pressed down with her fingers on her temples, focusing as hard as she could, and a vague memory floated to the front of her mind, a memory of being in Dedue’s arms, and they were floating. Or, he had been carrying her?

She had raised one arm and half-reached for him as he set her down on her bed, but he smiled, intercepting her hand in his and gently laying it back down on the bed beside her. “Goodnight, Mercedes,” he had told her warmly, before leaving her alone in her room. Then, she had really fallen asleep.

Mercedes shot straight up in bed. Had Dedue really been in here? She surveyed her piles, her messy desk, the stacks of books filling every gap and corner. She hoped that she had only dreamed that Dedue came into her room. His was so neat, after all. He would certainly be horrified to see that she lived like this.

Finally, it was time to leave her room. She was so uncomfortable from her hangover that she couldn’t bear to wear a brasserie. She put on her favorite loose-fitting summer blouse and a calf-length skirt. As she stepped into the courtyard, she noticed that it was far less crowded than on the usual Sunday mornings. Everyone else seemed to still be in bed, nursing their hangovers in their own ways, but what Mercedes needed was more water.

She trekked to the dining hall, fetching herself the largest glass, filling it to the brim with water, and stepping outside to sit on the stairs leading down towards the fishing pond. The dogs and cats were awake, even if the people weren’t. There was one particular dog that Mercedes often sought out—a white dog with black spots. It was a gentle and timid creature, not quite as bold as the other dogs though just as sweet.

She’d been hoping to run into this dog again, and it seemed to recognize her as she made cooing noises at it. Its tail began to wag and it trotted over to her, offering its neck for scratches. Mercedes giggled, obliging. Crouched down scratching the dog is how Felix found her. He approached quietly, but Mercedes could tell from his feet who it was.

“Good morning Felix.”

“You’re awake.”

“So I am.”

Felix was looking at her hard. “How are you feeling?” He asked tentatively. 

Mercedes laughed, “I have a dreadful hangover, actually. “I’m glad you were worried about me.”

“Who said I was worried?” Felix snapped, but there was no venom to his tone. So prickly, he was this morning. “I’m just surprised that you’re up this early.”

Mercedes shrugged, “I’m usually an early riser.”

“I see,” Felix crouched down beside her, reaching out to also pet her dog friend. There was tension in the air, something he wanted to talk about but couldn’t bring himself to be the one to breach the subject.

“So what did Sylvain want to talk to you about?” Mercedes asked experimentally, and that seemed to do the trick.

Felix let out a long, low sigh. “He’s so confusing sometimes.” Mercedes nodded and rather than responding with words, she just waited patiently for him to continue talking. “It’s like…he wants to be able to be with _anyone_ , but I’m only allowed to be with him.”

“That does sound frustrating,” Mercedes nodded her head.

Felix gritted his teeth, “I don’t mind being with only him,” he clarified.

“But it would be better if he also did the same,” Mercedes finished for him, clicking her tongue at the end, and Felix nodded in agreement. “Does he know you feel this way?”

“He _must_ ,” Felix said, but there was a hint of doubt to his tone. Then, suddenly, as if broken from a reverie, Felix straightened himself up. “I’m glad you’re doing okay,” he said in a voice that was ending the conversation, before walking away from her.

In Mercedes’ head, that conversation sealed the deal between her and Felix—they were officially friends. She watched him walk away, thinking of Emile, before grimacing. Emile had become something of a forbidden topic in her mind since she began to suspect that he was also at the monastery, but avoiding her. She couldn’t think for too long about Emile without a pit of uncertainty and hurt opening up inside of her.

Other students were starting to wake up, and she could smell breakfast being brought from the kitchens to the dining room for consumption. Mercedes went and got herself a plate of oats with some sugar and fruit. She ate quietly and alone, in a corner. Not many people that she knew were awake yet anyway.

When she was full, she began to wander the monastery. Well, if anyone had asked she would say that she was wandering, but in reality she was hunting for Dedue. First, she checked the greenhouse, where only Manuela was taking cuttings around the herbs. Next, she checked the training grounds, the knight’s hall, the common room, and the kitchens. Maybe he wasn’t awake yet—that was certainly a possibility.

Mercedes thought back to her vague memory of the previous night, her cheeks feeling hot. She wanted to make sure he still liked her after seeing the mess that was her room. Wait—still? It felt presumptuous to assume that he had even liked her in the first place, though at this point she was fairly confident and proud that the large Duscur boy’s affections laid with her.

She thought for a moment about knocking on Dedue’s door, but if he was still asleep, she wouldn’t want to wake him. She decided to head to the library and pick out a new romance book to ease the romantic feelings inside of her. Better to live out her fantasies vicariously through a book than to chase someone who may or may not be interested around the monastery.

As she was nearing the library, Mercedes saw Dimitri coming towards her, a book in his own hand—clearly coming from the place she was heading towards. She saw him a moment before he noticed her, and so she raised one hand to wave at him, opening her mouth to greet him when she heard her own name, amongst some chattering coming from one of the empty classrooms nearby.

“Did you see _Mercedes_?” Ingrid was talking. Gossiping about her?

Dorothea’s voice responded, “I didn’t know a girl so holy could get so…drunk,” the singer was giggling.

Ingrid’s tone remained serious, “I mean, did you see who she spent half the night dancing with?”

At this point, Dimitri had noticed her, as well as the gossip happening in the classroom that was clearly not empty, but actually contained at _least_ Ingrid and Dorothea, maybe some others.

It was a moment before Dorothea spoke again, and Dimitri and Mercedes held each others’ gaze. “Dedue, right?” Ingrid scoffed at the sound of the name, and suddenly Mercedes felt an unpleasant feeling spreading from the pit of her stomach. 

“Mercedes is such a sweet girl,” Ingrid sighed, “and Dedue is just so…”

“Creepy?” Dorothea’s mocking tone made Mercedes all the more angry with her.

Mercedes tore her gaze away from Dimitri’s, staring at her feet. She could stand for them gossiping about _her_ , but she wanted Dedue’s name out of their mouths. Especially if they were going to say derisive things about him.

“He’s not _just_ creepy,” Ingrid said bitterly, “he’s a bad guy.” 

That was enough. Mercedes’ feet were carrying her towards the classroom that the voices were coming from, passing close to Dimitri as she went. She just felt so angry, she couldn’t stop herself—she began to talk before she even reached the classroom. “How could you say that?” Was all she could ask, her voice hitting an unusual pitch, tight with negative feelings.

The two girls immediately stiffened, sealing their mouths shut and staring at her with saucer-eyes. Apparently neither had anything more to say on the subject now that Mercedes had arrived, “why would you say that Dedue is a bad guy?” She demanded again, narrowing her eyes at Ingrid. “He is a kind and honorable man, and your opinion of him is misguided.”

“Oh?” Dorothea said, an amused lilt to her voice as she recovered from her surprise, raising one eyebrow as if this interaction was a game to her.

Mercedes felt like she was about to cry angry tears. She was incredibly overwhelmed, but she couldn’t stop talking. “Don’t say such untrue things about someone you haven’t even bothered getting to know,” she said accusatorially, screwing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t cry. “Especially Dedue, who I would _never_ …” When she opened her eyes again, one tear fell from the left one. The right, though, remained thankfully dry.

“Mercedes—” Ingrid began to say, an apology already in her tone.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Mercedes decided, and with that she turned and dashed out of the room, past Dimitri, who was still standing in the hallway, and away from this conversation. 

Her head was still pounding from her hangover and her stomach was in knots with anger. She headed down the stairs, back towards the dorms. She would hide out in her room for the time that was left in the day. 

She was almost back—in the final stretch, when she saw Annette standing right in front of her door. The redhead hadn’t noticed her yet, but was clearly waiting for her to answer the door. Annette raised her hand and knocked again. 

Mercedes took a few deep breaths, smoothed out her clothes, and swiped at the few angry tears that had actually escaped her eyes. Then, she pushed her anger away like an ebbing tide, painted a smile across her face, and approached her younger friend.

“Hello, Annie,” she said, and Annette’s head turned towards her. The girl was still in her nightclothes, hair messy and deep circles under her eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re awake already! How do you look so put together?” Mercedes shrugged, opening her door to let both of them in. 

“I’m just wearing clothes, Annie,” Mercedes teased, “unlike some of us,” Annie rolled her eyes, already climbing into Mercedes’ bed. Mercedes lay beside her and the two of them stared up at the ceiling together.

“You were so drunk last night,” Annette told her, and Mercedes blushed. She was beginning to see a pattern in her conversations today. 

“So I’ve heard,” she said evenly. 

“Did you have fun, though?”

“I did.”

“Then that’s what matters!” Annette said with a giggle. “You and Dedue seemed pretty familiar.” Mercedes frowned, thinking back to what Ingrid and Dorothea had been saying in the empty classroom near the library.

“What do you think of Dedue, Annie?” She asked, turning in the bed to face her friend.

Annette frowned, considering the question for a moment. “I don’t know him very well,” she admitted, “but I know he’s very loyal to his highness, which I appreciate, and he also seems to like you, which I can’t disagree with. I think the more important question is: what do _you_ think of Dedue?”

Mercedes paused for a moment, embarrassed to admit aloud all of the things that she felt for Dedue. “I think he’s wonderful,” she finally decided to say, because if she said anything more she wouldn’t be able to stop the word vomit. 

“Well that’s what’s important,” Annette said with a smile, “and if you like him, I trust your judgement.”

Mercedes sighed, “I think I like him too much.”

“Too much?”

Suddenly, Mercedes wished that she hadn’t said anything. This was a thought that had just barely begun to form in her head, and she wasn’t quite ready to talk about it out loud yet. Annie was looking at her, though, with wide and curious eyes. “I don’t know,” she said noncommittally, then took a deep breath. “I’m always looking for him. Even when I don’t realize it, sometimes I’m just wandering around and I see Dedue and I get this feeling of relief, like I found something that I was searching for,” that was the best Mercedes could think of to say to describe her feelings.

Annette didn’t say anything for a while. She closed her eyes, and for a moment Mercedes was not sure if she’d fallen asleep. “That’s nice,” her younger redheaded friend finally said, “sounds like a romance novel.”

Mercedes blushed, rolling onto her back. “It feels like one, too,” she said truthfully.

Annette laughed at her, and she couldn’t blame her friend. It _was_ a pretty silly thing to say, after all. “You’re so cute, Mercie,” Annette giggled, “I would read your romance novel.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Mercedes said dryly. 

They lazed around for the rest of the day—well, Annette’s definition of ‘lazing around’ was to deal with Mercedes’ piles. At first, Mercedes was embarrassed to have her friend organize her piles, but it _had_ been quite a long time since she’d last dealt with them, and Annette cleaned for fun.

So, Mercedes sat cross-legged on the bed as Annette went through the piles, sorting out clean from dirty. The clean clothes, she alternately folded to put in the dresser or put on hangers to hang in the closet. 

By the time sixth bell, Mercedes’ mess had been reduced to one single pile of dirty clothes by the door, and everything else had been put away. Annette smiled proudly. “Perfect hangover cure,” the petite girl announced, “I’ve been wanting you to let me help you with those piles for _weeks_!”

Mercedes laughed, “I’m glad I could provide a fulfilling experience,” she said. Annette went and fetched dinner for both of them, which they ate together in Mercedes’ room before Annette went back to her own room at the ninth bell.

Late that night, when she couldn’t sleep, Mercedes went looking for Dedue. Of course, she brought a book to read as an alibi but made no secret to herself that she wasn’t really just looking for him. She hadn’t seen him at all that day, and her head was full of vague memories of him putting her to sleep after the festival. Had he really carried her back to her room after she fell asleep on him in the dining room?

She couldn’t stop the blush that spread across her cheeks at the thought of being in his arms. That feeling was quickly followed by frustration that she had been a bit too drunk to remember such a feeling. She tried to imagine what it would feel like—he was so big, and the one hug she’d shared with him had been heavenly. To be held by him, bound not by the laws of gravity but by Dedue’s arms—

Mercedes shook the thought out of her head, biting her lip. She was turning crazy with thoughts of Dedue, it seemed. More than half the time that she thought of him, all she did was blush.

He wasn’t in any of the places that Mercedes would expect to find him, and so she lit a few lamps and settled down in a corner of the common room to read. She sat in a place that gave her a good view of the door, in so that she would know if anyone arrived.

Not thirty minutes later, she heard soft footsteps, and looked up to see none other than the person she had come looking for in the first place. He squinted at the light, eyes searching for the person who had lit those lamps. That’s when Mercedes realized that she was tucked away in the corner between two bookshelves, behind a desk.

“Hello, Dedue,” she said, crawling out from her corner. His eyes went wide for a second, then crinkled at the corners as he smiled, letting out a short laugh. “What’s funny?” She asked.

He reached up to cover his smiling face with one hand, “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat, “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Mercedes beamed at him, “I was looking for you, too!” She said, “I checked everywhere—the greenhouse, the kitchens, the training ground…”she trailed off at the mention of the training ground, glancing shyly at him. “Anyway, I was also hoping to see you.”  
Dedue moved his hand away from his smile, scratching at the back of his neck now, “I’m glad to hear it.”

For a moment, they stood about a meter apart, both unsure of what to say next. Mercedes knew what she wanted, and she had a feeling that he wanted it to. So, she decided to take the initiative. She reached out with one hand to cup Dedue’s cheek. His eyes immediately drifted to meet hers. He looked shy.

“Is this okay?” Mercedes asked before stepping towards him and gently guiding his face down, towards hers. His lips were soft like she remembered, but she only kissed him for a moment. She didn’t even have time to fully pull away before she heard his response.

“Yes,” he breathed, and one of his hands found the back of her neck, holding her in place as he leaned towards her again. Mercedes sighed softly into him, reaching her arms around the back of his neck, trying to get closer. He hunched towards her, his hand that wasn’t on her neck finding her waist. 

Their first kiss had been short, more of a declaration than a kiss. Now, though, they were both engaged in the action. His mouth moved firmly against hers, his thumb stroking the side of her neck as she felt his tongue, pressing experimentally against her lips. She opened them without so much as a pause for consideration, her tongue sliding easily along his. It felt electric—unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Their simultaneous moans of satisfaction mingled in the quiet stillness of the common room after midnight.

Mercedes ran her tongue along Dedue’s for as long as she could before realizing that she had forgotten to breathe. She pulled back suddenly, taking a sharp breath, then another. She hadn’t even realized how oxygen-deprived she was. Breathing in Dedue had been better than oxygen.

Dedue’s thumb was still softly stroking the side of her neck. When she looked up at him, his gaze was part concern and part confusion. “sorry, I forgot to breathe,” she said, feeling embarrassed.

Dedue laughed another short and quiet laugh, and his arms were wrapping around Mercedes, pulling her into a gentle Dedue hug. His grip around her was so tender, she buried her face in a space between his neck and his shoulder, just above his pectorals. 

“Are you feeling better?” He asked her.

“You mean from last night?” She asked and she could feel him nodding affirmatively above her. “I’m feeling much better. And I’m grateful that you were there to take care of me.”

Dedue didn’t say anything as he let go of her. He had brought a book with him too, and so they spent the evening sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the common room floor, reading. Dedue’s warmth and her warmth mingled through the spot where their upper arms were flush against each other.

What a pleasant feeling.

They kissed again as they said goodnight.

The rest of the Blue Sea Moon passed like a blur. The next day, Ingrid and Dorothea came to apologize to her, but she wasn’t necessarily interested in hearing it. She was working in the kitchens when they approached, and all she really had to say in response was, “Dedue is the one you should apologize to.” He was, after all, the target of their unkind words.

The goddess’s Rite of Rebirth was approaching rapidly, and Mercedes could sense that the clergy was on edge. The professor was patrolling more often, along with Dimitri, waiting for something horrible to happen it seemed. 

The following Saturday, Mercedes sat for her C-level sword exam, which would permit her to carry a steel blade into battle if she passed. She could see Ingrid in the room, too, taking the exam for her pegasus knight certification, as well as Felix, who was trying to qualify for the mercenary class.

She barely passed, and at a C level rather than C+. Either way, it meant that her days in Jeritza’s seminar were over. A strange feeling in the pit of her stomach followed her out of her meeting with the professor. She wondered if Jeritza—Emile?—would be glad to be rid of her. She was such a coward.

The final weeks of the moon, Mercedes spent most of her time with Annette. There was a small celebration in the dorm courtyard for Claude’s birthday, his rambunctious house of Golden Deer all laughing and yelling and drinking late into the night. Mercedes chose not to participate, instead working on the dress for Annette in her room, even as her small redheaded friend drank with Lysithea just outside.

She’d done a decent job of maintaining the cleanliness left by Annette on their hangover day after the festival. She’d washed the pile of clothes that were dirty, and even folded and put them away. Her floor was still clear and open, a wondrous miracle that took much concentrated effort on her part. It made it much easier to sit and sew.

She only saw Dedue a handful of times in the last two weeks of the moon—they would meet up late at night and sit together and read—well, they would kiss a bit, too. Neither of them seemed ready to discuss whatever their relationship was turning into, and so they didn’t. That was fine with Mercedes, she was content to just sit adjacent to one another, their shoulders sharing warmth. She was _more_ then content, when at the end of the night, they would lean their faces together, sharing warm kisses before they separated for the evening.

She hadn’t had a proper conversation with him, though, in a while. Their meetings had turned quiet. It was beginning to give her slight anxiety, though, as she deeply enjoyed conversing with Dedue.

Two days after Claude’s birthday was the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. The professor warned everyone to arm themselves before heading for the Holy Mausoleum, the place where intruders were expected to invade.

Mercedes had never accompanied her classmates to the armory before—she’d only ever wielded spells, after all. She looked over at Dedue nervously, as he outfitted himself with his heavy armor. She walked over to him.

“Dedue,” she said softly, and he looked up at her, “be safe, okay?”

He nodded at her, tenderness swimming in his eyes, “you as well,” he responded, and Mercedes would have kissed him had they not been in the armory preparing for battle with all of their classmates.

Mercedes then drifted back to where Annette was trying out the weight of a killer axe—the professor had told her to go with the harder-to-wield, but lighter, model. Mercedes knew that her small friend had a penchant for axe-wielding, but to see little Annette with a big axe strapped to her back was a little bit silly for Mercedes.

They followed the professor towards the Mausoleum, and for a moment Mercedes wondered—what if we’re in the wrong place? But that didn’t seem to be a problem, as she could hear sounds coming from within the mausoleum as they approached it.

Mercedes and Annette glanced at each other nervously. Beside them, Dimitri peeked through the doors of the Holy Mausoleum. “It’s as we suspected,” he murmured, more to himself than to them, “the enemy is within.”

Somewhere behind her, Mercedes could hear Ingrid shifting around nervously. “Everyone,” The professor whispered, gesturing for everyone to gather around him. “We’ll divide into three groups—one healer per group. Dimitri, Mercedes, and I will take the middle. Dedue, Felix, Ashe, and Annette take the right side. Sylvain, Ingrid, Caspar, and Marianne take the left.”

Mercedes glanced over at Dedue, who was moving towards the right side of the group. Soon, he stood clumped together with Felix, Annette, and Ashe. Mercedes took a deep breath. It would be fine—they would keep each other safe.

The job of being the sole healer in a group of three seemed like it would be easier than having a larger group to cover, but this was an exception. The professor and Dimitri both charged headlong into battle, tearing ruthlessly at their enemies with little regard for themselves. They were almost fearsome.

Mercedes hung back, diligently healing the two men as they alternately returned to her her for help. Together, they made their way through the mausoleum, down a corridor framed on both sides by coffins. Mercedes closed her eyes and tried not to think about the corpses that lay therein. To her right, the professor continuously covered for Annette’s group, and to her left Dimitri covered Marianne’s group. She went up the center alone, healing her comrades from either side.

At the mid-point of the room, stood a figure. Large and imposing, wearing full armor and a helmet that resembled a skull. Mercedes shivered, looking around to either side of her. No one was nearby—the professor had shifted further to the right and Dimitri to the left. Mercedes looked behind her to see reinforcements, showing up at the door. 

On the other side of the armored man, the room continued—she knew that was their goal. Maybe she could go around him? The evil-looking knight didn’t move as she came near him. Mercedes could only see dark pits where his eyes should be. He seemed to be looking forward, not even turning to look at her as she inched past him.

Then, the helmet turned towards her. She gulped. The knight said nothing, but lifted the lance grasped in his left hand—

A hand wrapped around Mercedes’ wrist, gripping her firmly and yanking her back and away. She blinked, feeling as if she had been pulled from a reverie. The professor had pulled her back, away from the enemy knight. “Go,” he pointed past the knight, shoving Mercedes roughly in that direction. She stumbled, then broke into a light jog, trying to ignore the sounds of grunts and shouts of her friends. 

Then, she heard Marianne scream. “Mercedes?” Sylvain called out tentatively, and that had Mercedes running across the room, towards the sound. On her way over, she was met by a man with a lance, but before she could even conjure a thunder spell, the man fell. As he hit the ground, Mercedes glanced up to see Ingrid, standing across the room. It seems that though she’d just passed her pegasus knight exam, she was on foot for this battle.

An awkward moment passed in which she and Ingrid looked at each other. Neither had spoken to each other since Ingrid apologized to her for the gossiping incident after the St. Cethleann day festival. “Mercedes!” This time Caspar was the one calling her name, and she dashed towards the sound of it.

Marianne was unconscious, laying on the ground behind Caspar, who was bleeding heavily from his abdomen. It seemed Sylvain and Ingrid had their hands full protecting the two who were injured. 

Mercedes frowned, considering who to heal first. Caspar could provide much needed relief to Sylvain and Ingrid, but Marianne’s skills would be needed if Ingrid or Sylvain were to be hurt. 

In the end, she threw a physic spell towards Caspar, trying to concentrate on his abdomen, conjuring a heal for Marianne as soon as the physic left her body. As she approached the blue-haired girl, she fell to her knees, magic flowing from her into Marianne, who was bleeding from a wound on her head. Not good.

“Thanks, Mercedes,” Caspar said, twisting from side to side to test his body.

“Don’t overdo it,” she warned, “you’ll need a better healing job later.”

Caspar nodded and pulled out a hand axe to throw at a mage who was attacking Ingrid. Mercedes focused on Marianne’s head for about fifteen seconds before she could sense the wound beginning to close. The blue-haired girl was just blinking when she heard another shout for her name—

“Over here, Mercedes!” It was the professor. Mercedes glanced around, wondering if it was okay to leave Marianne on the ground like this.

“I’ll take care of her,” Ingrid was suddenly beside Mercedes, “I know a bit of faith magic,” the blonde girl didn’t sound very sure of herself, but Mercedes heard a shout that sounded like Dimitri, and all but pushed Marianne in Ingrid’s direction.

“Thanks,” she said, before scurrying back towards the middle of the room, towards the goddess’s casket at the back—something that Mercedes never thought she’d lay eyes on. In the back of her mind, she’d always thought of the goddess as some abstract figure that had never lived on or near the earth—a legend wasn’t something that could exist as a person in the real world, right?

She pushed away her thoughts of spirituality, instead focusing on the figures of the professor healing Dimitri. There was a strange urgency to the way that the professor healed Dimitri—she knew that those two had a strange connection. They both seemed to be hiding desperate animalism beneath polite masks, and they recognized that in each other. 

“Professor,” she put a hand on the navy-haired man, and he jumped. “I’ve got it,” she knelt beside Dimitri, healing a stab wound in the back of his shoulder. She placed her hands gently agains the prince’s back as their professor approached the mage that stood nearest to the casket, sword drawn, prepared to cut him down. 

The mysterious mage seemed to be beat, but he still managed to open the casket. 

The goddess’s casket! Mercedes gasped, and almost choked on the gasp. There was a strange silence in the room, before the Mage reached into the casket and pulled out not bones but a sword—a very large sword. It appeared to be a relic, Mercedes thought. The sword seemed to not want to fight against the professor, because as he raised his sword against it, it flew into the air, coming naturally to the man known as Byleth Eisner.

Mercedes and Dimitri watched with wide eyes as their professor wielded the Sword of the Creator, a relic previously thought of as lost to the ages. As the mage fell to the ground, a moment of silence fell around the room, everyone staring in disbelief.

And then, the crackle of magic as the evil-looking knight warped away. He must’ve still been nearby, but everyone was tired from the battle. “He got away…we have no choice but to let them go for now,” Dimitri said regretfully, and Mercedes finished healing him. Then, Dimitri’s eyes flickered back to the professor, and he walked towards the other man to tell him something.

When Catherine and the Knights of Seiros showed up, Mercedes allowed herself to wander back towards Marianne. Annette was already with her, though, diligently healing the blue-haired transfer student despite the fact that she specialized in reason magic.

Next, Mercedes’ eyes scanned for Dedue, and she was relieved to see him standing, talking to the prince and the professor. The three men had an imposing air about them—or maybe they just happened to be the three strongest people that Mercedes had ever met. Either way, she didn’t want to approach the group of him.

Dedue’s eyes drifted to meet hers from across the room, as if he sensed her looking. She reached up and touched her lips as they gazed at each other, not wanting to make the gesture of blowing a kiss at him but wanting to convey the same message nonetheless. Dedue also reached up and touched his own lips. Mercedes could feel her cheeks heating up.

“Does anyone else need to be healed?” She asked, turning away from Dedue, momentarily satisfied by their across-the-room display of affection.

Ingrid and Caspar were sitting together, Caspar’s torso was obviously still bothering him while Ingrid seemed to have something going on with her left leg. And so, Mercedes calmly walked over to heal them. She wished someone else could have helped Ingrid, as she still harbored sour feelings towards the Galatea girl. She pushed those feelings to the back of her head, though, pulling a healing spell from deep within her spiritual person, watching in proud wonder as her hands glowed with the power of the spell.

After all, she was a healer and these were her teammates. She would heal them without a second thought and without complaint. She stepped towards Ingrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry I didn't mean to go a whole 2 weeks before posting again. My trip out of town was unexpectedly extended but I've been writing this chapter on and off. 
> 
> I'll be back more consistently soon. I'm supposed to return home tomorrow. Thank u guys for understanding and let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> there will be more Mercedue conversations starting in the next chapter!! This week was just kissy time, but I do also love writing their dialogue they are so sweet.


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